


The Joker

by The_Eclectic_Reader23



Series: "The Dark Knight, The Clown Prince, The Chosen Queen" [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, Gotham City - Freeform, Gotham City is Terrible, Inspired by Music, Joker (DCU) Angst, Joker (DCU) Backstory, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Killing, Other, Post-Movie: The Dark Knight (2008), Shooting, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Reader23/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Reader23
Summary: She escaped five years ago. Now she's coming back.The demons that ruined him are howling after her. Is she brave enough to fight the ghosts of the past? Or is she going to end up as his toy?She cannot know.But she knows this only: where there is the Joker, there is always chaos. And a bit of laughter.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Original Female Character(s), Harleen Quinzel/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: "The Dark Knight, The Clown Prince, The Chosen Queen" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620670
Comments: 34
Kudos: 30





	1. Gotham Was A Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'm alive (who would have guessed, ha?) and coming with the second part of the story.  
> Tip for new story: I named our OFC Roxanne and I hope you like that one I picked. 
> 
> Now... buckle up and come for a crazy ride! 🦇🃏

> _"I'm coming home_
> 
> _From all the places I have been_
> 
> _With nothing but a voice within_
> 
> _That calls me, calls me home"_
> 
> _~ Calls Me Home by Shannon LaBrie_

There she stood, on the streets of Gotham. Home. 

How strange it was. To refer to that place, that terribly wrong city with such a lovely name of what word _home_ should mean. 

But this wasn't Gotham she remembered; no, this was something entirely different from what it used to be. 

Many things changed through five years. There was the Scarecrow and his terror reign, then the arrival of the Batman, whose secret identity remained intact even now. From becoming a symbol of justice and purity in Gotham, he's grown to be too despised, too hated for his final act. 

The murder of Harvey Dent, who went crazy over the loss of a woman he loved. 

She knew of all those events. Of course she knew. 

_You can get out of Gotham, but you cannot take Gotham out of yourself_ , as she used to say. There was always no escape. 

And she knew who drove the city's mindset to its madness. 

As he promised to do. 

💚💜💚💜

The first time she saw him on electronic screen was when she sat at a local cafe to have some quick breakfast. 

It was a year after she left Gotham. A whole year. And destiny played it like it was her anniversary. 

She was sitting in the corner of the cafe, trying not to draw attention to herself. Since she went away from her mad lover, she dared not to form any kind of relationships with people; at least if they were not overly necessary. Especially not those romantic ones. 

She sat there, patiently waiting for her usual order (she already became the owner's favourite visitor, but she thought it had something to do with her being the regular customer, eating there on daily basis) and looking through her notes (she decided to attend college again - and this time, actually finish it), when she saw him.

It was J. Her former, dear J. Raging fire in her cold bones. Both the love of her life and the emotional scar she was hoping to heal from.

But the news didn't present him under that name. It was far too personal, far too his name to title him like that. 

No; he was called ' _The Joker_ '. 

She trembled at the screenshots of hanged, bloodied, tortured people dressed as the Batman. Lifeless. Murdered by the hands of a man she once longed for. The man she left in the shady past of hers.

That day she ran out of the cafe, leaving both her order and her books behind.

His maniac laughter resonated in her brain for nights. His painted clown face mocked her in every article she read, every TV programme she watched. The stories about him were whispered on the streets; it didn't matter that she was kilometers away from Gotham.

There was always no escape from him. 

She was right. Gotham was about to stay in her soul forever, J in her heart and veins as a natural element she was constructed from. 

She loved him still. She loved him all and the same, and that's why she ran away again. Once she started running, she didn't stop. 

But his shade was always there. 

And it called to her in a way that frightened her to the core. 

💚💜💚💜

If it weren't for a job, she would have never come back. 

But she picked psychology for her major, wrote a paper that impressed many of acknowledged psychiatrists (no one knew she based the research on her personal life with J) and caught the eye of one of the best in Gotham. They shared a few emails, in which the psychiatrist expressed a wish to work with her (more precisely, offering her a position of an assistant), however reluctant she might had been. When the said person noted she was originated from Gotham, the deal was sealed. 

Come to think about it, fate must have pulled some joke upon her. And it was a nasty one. 

But she was here now. Back to the place she swore to never return to. 

_If only I wasn't lacking much of a free will_ , she thought to herself as she was standing on the concrete sidewalk. Those were the streets she knew as her own boiling blood. Those were the proofs of a history that happened in reality, not in the imaginary of her colourless mind. 

Sighing, she reached into the pocket of her jacket and took out a phone, dialing the number of her friend (and the current boss). She stopped only for a second. Maybe she could get away from it? The obligation she promised to fulfill; maybe she could swiftly avoid it? 

She waved her head. _There is no use. I have already stepped into this goddamn city._

She called. The person answered almost in an instant. 

"Hello?" The voice sounded warm. 

She coughed. "Hey, Harls. I'm here. In Gotham." 

"Roxanne!" The female voice exclaimed joyfully. "I'm so glad you came!" 

The conversation ended shortly, but Roxanne found out everything she needed to know. From the address where her new apartment was on (Harley claimed it to be nothing fancy, but it will put up for a good use) to the lists of patient files she'll have to work on with Harley. 

She didn't mind it. Harley seemed to be a very pleasant, nice young woman (exceptionally talented in her field of work, as Roxanne noticed) and a refreshing personality in her monotonous life. 

"I told them to leave all the documents in your apartment. I hope you don't mind." 

She didn't. 

"I just want us to start the work as soon as we can. There are many interesting cases to explore and many unique minds to dive into." 

_Minds to dive into... Perfect phrase._

"Well, see you tomorrow at 8am. You know where to go? Should I send you the address?" 

"No, no, it's fine." Roxanne said, although it sounded more as a yawn. "I know where is Arkham Asylum."

Harley chuckled brightly. "Oh, am I silly! For the moment I forgot you're from here." 

_Did you?_

"It's hard to believe somebody would ever leave Gotham. Must there be some good story?" 

"How about I tell you tomorrow?" Roxanne spoke a bit harshly. "If you like cliche stories."

Harley chuckled again. "Sure I do. Especially if they have a romantic base to it." 

_Oh, this one has both romance and madness in it. But I won't tell you that one._

"See you in the morning. I'll tell the secretary to let you in without an identity card. Yours is still in the process of making." 

"All right, Harley." 

"I will be in my office. It's on the third floor. Says 'Dr. Quinzel'. Can't miss it." 

"Meet you there." 

_You should've burned this city when you had the chance, J._

💚💜💚💜

_"It's nothing too fancy, but..."_

Except it was fancy. It was an apartment she'd dreamed of: great storage space, colourful kitchen (since she mentioned she had a thing for them), living room spreading from the front door through whole apartment, shielded from the kitchen by just a quadrant wall. The bedroom was big enough for two double beds. 

Oh, but the view. The window planted instead of a wall, making her equally visible to the Gotham, as well Gotham to her. 

It was both beautiful and nauseous. 

_Living here might not be that much bad after all..._

Except it can be that much bad. 

After taking a hot shower and making a cup of orange and chocolate tea, Roxanne prepared to go to bed and relax before she meets her coworkers in the morning. 

The files she went quickly through seemed very interesting cases, some of them really hitting home close to her previous romantic and family trauma. She knew she could offer her sensible insight into the problems and a dose of empathy to those who need it, but don't ask for it. 

Until she saw the last file. It had the red mark painted over. And she knew those were intended for the criminals of greatest danger. 

_Alias: The Joker_

_Name: Unknown_

_Age: Unknown_

"You've got to be kidding me...," she muttered to herself. "She's giving me J as the patient?" 

Disbelief and shock shook her body. The familiar feeling of tremble washed over her again; she couldn't place if it was a positive or a negative feeling. There was no background to it. 

Her eyes followed up to the pictures that were inside the file. She reached in and grabbed a handful of them. 

There was a variety: Joker in the purple suit, filmed on the street. Joker in Arkham's uniform. Joker here. Joker there. Joker everywhere she turns to. 

She threw them on the floor. Only one still clung to her hand. 

It showed J's face, just his face. Skin covered in white, blackness surronding his brown eyes, red sparkling on his lips and teeth. Hair dyed green. 

He really looked like a clown. 

But where the world saw only the Joker, she saw a young man named J too. Or what was left of him. She doubted there was anything to connect him to who he was before. 

A finger of hers traced along the lines of his famous Joker smile. She stared at it absently. 

_What is it that still aches in the hole of my heart when I see you around?_

A tear fell down. Sole tear.

_You have changed, J, darling._

Another tear. 

_I have changed too, my dear love._

And one more, and one more, and one more. 

_Why do I still call you 'love' when you're not even yourself anymore?_

Soon enough, there was just an empty room and violent shaking; and teardrops to keep the pity party alive.

She will see him. Finally, she will look him in the eye. 

Before they were _Roxanne and J_ ; now they'll be _Roxanne and the Joker_.

But that wasn't the worst there to happen.

No. 

The worst was... a part of her wanted to see him again, even as the caricature man. 


	2. Hello At Arkham Asylum

> _"So I've been sleeping with this silence in my mind_
> 
> _And all I see scares me"_
> 
> _~ Hospital by Lydia_

There finally came a day she'll meet him again. Eye in the eye, not knowing what to expect. 

She didn't tell Harley the truth; she had never told it to anybody. There was always a well of lies she was living on. As much as she detested it, she had invented her entire history in her own mind so there would never be a slight disturbance in the new life she desperately tried to build. 

And she became an expert in lying. 

However, she couldn't have known if she would ever be strong enough to lie to _him_. Whoever he may be now. 

Little did she know how close she was to becoming the kind of person he used to be. 

💚💜💚💜

Roxanne marched to the front door of Arkham Asylum, not stopping for a moment. She knew if she did, she would have turned around and leave the crime scene as fast as it could possibly be. 

_The crime scene._

Just a convenient term for a madhouse place. Like this one she's about to enter. 

"Hello." The secretary greeted her in the ground floor, standing up and putting a smile on her face.

_Fake. Going up a bit, but you're eyes aren't as lightened as they would've been._

Roxanne gave one back - sarcastically. 

_Good, everybody here's for a nuthouse._

"I wish you a good morning." The secretary spoke. Her voice was clear and loud. But there was something wicked hidden in it; the colour of the voice rather mocking, and unwelcome. 

"Are you...?" She said then, looking down at her papers, trying to find a name of a newcomer.

"Yes, I am Roxanne. The assistant of Dr. Quinzel." 

The Queen of Wickedness nodded. A tip of her nose wrinkled. 

"I know where I need to go." Roxanne said, waving a hand. She was clearly showing that her presence is not wanted. "You don't have to walk me there." 

"All right. But I am in charge of saying that the doctor is on third floor. Right now, busy with some papers." 

"Understood." Roxanne retorted, making her way far out of her reach. "Good day."

"As well, Miss."

Marching just became her best forte of walking. Head held high (when she used to put it low); back straightened to show confidence (when she barely had a handful of it); eyeing everything on the horizon up and down with no fear (when she used to shiver at the smallest of emotion she felt for J back then). 

She marched on, as if the ghost of him wasn't haunting her and as if the shell of his soul was taunting at her silly facade. 

_You're somewhere in this building. You're somewhere very near to me._

💚💜💚💜

"As you can see, here we have the patients with easier conditions." 

"Easier?" Roxanne asked a bit confused. "I thought Arkham was for criminally insane. You know, like those guys years ago... fighting Batman. " 

"Oh, honey!" Harley chuckles. 

Roxanne actually likes her laugh. It's very young, childlike, innocent. Very positive. 

_As I used to be._

"What? They seemed to form a liking for being theatrical. And may I say, using unique approach to their... well, business." 

Harley blinked and waved her head twice. "That's not what I meant, Rox." 

_Oh._

"I just supposed... Arkham is notorious. There is not a good word spoken about it on the streets." 

Harley offered a sympathetic smile. "I am aware of that. But, what I actually meant is... this floor is mostly secured for the criminals whose personalities are not overly destructively oriented. Those kind of patients we could grant a great therapy and surrond them with understanding environment." 

"But they can never leave this place." Roxanne noticed, growing silent. 

Arkham wasn't badly spoken about only because of the types of criminals that inhabitated there; the whispers about a man who has become Gotham's legend threw a dark shade on the asylum. 

Roxanne couldn't believe that he would have never get the taste of a freedom again. It was a truth everybody knew: once you got yourself in Arkham, there was no chance you could ever get out. However it may be, she heard lots and lots of praise about the institution, the staff and their techniques that guaranteed improvements for most of the patients. One part of her accepted that job because of the great value it held and reputation that could help get herself onto another job, away from Gotham, away from her memories. 

She finally understood what J meant when he said that he did not want to remember his past. Or have any recognitions of his ordinary, civil name. Some memories - some familiar pain hidden in the obscurity of a mind - could be so bad, so twisted and unnatural that you wouldn't want them to be yours. And that was exactly how Roxanne felt. 

If J could forget her, turn into something she could never approve of; then there was nothing stopping her from doing the same. She thought that departure would bring her tranquility, confidence she could grab in her small hands, and make something good out of it. But, as she found herself standing in the Arkham's infamous white walls - _walls that could make you go insane_ \- she knew she never really left him.

There was some sick desire inside of her, buried to the depths of her corrupted being on purpose, that yearned for J, for his benevolent touch, his sweet whispered nothings as he scooped her in his embrace at night. As much of a trouble she thought he'll be, she dared to give her love to him. 

Once she did, she lost everything that ever had a meaning to her. 

It had taken hour and a half before they finished their tour around Arkham's halls. 

With each floor they went upstairs, Roxanne felt more and more unsettled. It wasn't quiet anymore; noises, screams and protests filled the hallways, every voice sounding worse and territorial than other. Patients placed on the last floor (on the top of the institution) were the ones that notables of Gotham warned about: maniacs with psychotic delusions, mentally affected men and women with paranoid minds and invisible ghosts that never truly went away, veterans whose PTSD forced them into acts of terrorism,... their voices were heard. 

Harley walked in front of her; confident, brave. Untouched by the words that were spat back with raging hatred. She didn't even flinch, her heels tapping on the marble floor, almost rushing to the end of the hallway. 

Roxanne kept going behind her, making a great deal of a space between them. She tried not to form eye contact with the patients; it would get everyone in the trouble. Especially when they were hit with the mood like the one she witnessed to. 

But, knowing they haven't visited the Joker yet, Roxanne couldn't help it but to ask herself if one of the voices, one of the screams belonged to him. 

Harley did inform her of few procedures she'll have to do before she goes to his cell. The Joker was extremely dangerous, incredibly witty young man. The profile she was handed to described his crimes of bank heist, double homicide, double hijack, arson and domestic terrorism. He was marked as having an excellent insight in human psychology, which made it easy for him to control people's minds and cause the reactions he wanted to draw. His knowledge of weaponry was well-demonstrated in the wrongdoings against Gotham's citizens, resulting in mass deaths. His so-called 'social experiment' showed a significant feature of how he viewed the moral code. 

He wanted chaos, chaos and destruction. 

But his true meaning was forced onto somebody else. 

The Joker was an idea; a dark, untamed one. His antics had to mirror something that was greater, brighter and more stable than the moral code everyone desperately clung to. He was searching for a symbol he needed to break. 

And then he found one. 

"He's obsessed with Batman. That's his one, we could call it, weakness," Harley explained. "But the problem is: nobody had seen Batman in years. People don't like him anymore." 

Roxanne nodded slowly. "I heard about the arrest warrant that was issued for him." 

"Isn't that magnificent?" Harley spoke, her mind wandering somewhere else. "How a single man brought down the idol we all looked up to, thinking his doings to be more than jusitfied. Just a single man was all it took." 

"You think Batman's acts weren't justified?" 

"He proved himself to be a vicious assassin and vigilante. I think you are familiar with what happened to Harvey Dent?" 

Roxanne accepted the statement reluctantly. Of course she knew. "But didn't he also prove himself helpful when it needed be? I mean, he did help with all the Scarecrow thing." 

"He was an idol. That's all. We believed him, we put our trust in him, and he betrayed us," Harley snapped. "He betrayed him." 

Roxanne didn't miss it, and she suspected whom she referred to, but decided to leave it alone. At least for now. But there was definitely something there. 

Almost as if she admired the Joker. 

"I never got it, Harley," Roxanne broke the silence, trying to sound as cheerful as she could. "I never understood why did anyone believe in that guy Batman. He is not a symbol; he is a man, Harls. Just a human like you and me. Flesh and bone. Blood and soul. That's it. That's what is hidden behind the glorifying mask and muscular chest. His strength doesn't lay in his physical appearance; but in the propaganda that surronds him and his name. His thirst for fame is seen in the way he fought those criminals. What citizens don't like? Violence and individuals who use their heads the criminal way. What did he have to offer? A city with no robbery and scared girls in the darkest corners of the street. That's what I think of him." 

"You speak with cynicism, Rox," Harley laughed lightly. 

"I suppose I picked it up from my ex-boyfriend," she spat in an instant, and the words were no longer able to be taken back. The fact she spoke it out loud surprised her. 

Harley seemed equally surprised at sudden outburst, but equally intrigued too. She shifted her position to face Roxanne better. 

"Your heart was broken - no, wait. Your heart _is_ broken."

_No. It's not._

"Rox? Everything okay?"

_Please, don't go there. Please, don't go there._

"Rox?" 

She looked at Harley bewildered. "Don't ask me that, Harley. Just... please, don't." 

Dr. Quinzel nodded, her lips painted pink frowning. She was worried for Roxanne. 

"Is there anything I could do for you, Rox? First of all, I have to apologise for my lack of manner in this area. I am not allowed getting in there," she spoke, pointing a finger at Roxanne's head. 

"No, no, it's... it's all right," Roxanne tried to defend herself. "Just brings bad... recollections of a time I can't bring back." 

"In that case... would you mind visiting our last patient? If it's not too much to handle for you?" 

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Harley," Roxanne offered a weak smile. 

_Smiling makes me sick._

"Are you sure? We did a lot of check-ups today. I can go on this one alone." 

"No, I am all right. Really," she tried to persuade her. "This is just happening all at once." 

"I am afraid I don't get what you mean, Rox," she asked, warm as always, putting on a nice, homely smile. The one that isn't fake. 

"Gotham. Gotham is happening to me." Her own voice sounded like metal, tasted like vomit. 

"Oh," Harley responded. "Well, I think Gotham can be too much for many."

"It's rather toxic if you ask me."

"Uf, okay," Harley looked down at her wrist, forehead wrinkling at the watch she wore. 

"Let me guess, time is ticking out?" Roxanne tried to pull a joke, but it made her feel sicker more. 

"You're right!" She clapped her hands. "All set?" 

"I suppose," she responded. 

"You're doing a lot of supposing, Rox", Harley said, smiling. 

A hit in the gut. 

_You're doing a lot of supposing, dolly._

She wasn't prepared for the next one. 

She wasn't prepared for his deep, but velvety voice as they entered another door. 

"Hello, dolly. Nice to see you. _Here_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, our main female role doesn't have a good opinion on Batman.


	3. His Insanity

> _"If I keep my eyes closed, he feels just like you_
> 
> _But you've been replaced_
> 
> _I'm face to face with someone new"_
> 
> _~ Eyes Closed by Halsey_

_Hello, dolly._

That nickname again; the one she had grown to love, identified herself with, and the one she hasn't heard in a long time. 

And now he was in front of her, sitting at the white, rectangular shaped table. His hands were in cuffs, since he was too lethal to even be alive. 

His face was new. She had seen it many times on the TV, but never this close... again. 

There were the traces of red, white and black warpaint on his manly skin. His hair was greener than she expected it to be, since he was locked in this asylum for years. She suspected it had to do something with Harley; she must have pulled out all her resources to enable the cosmetics and hair dye for Gotham's famous prince of crime. 

She took all of it in, even the way how funny he looked in the orange suit the patients were given. But she didn't say anything.

 _Orange is not your colour. At all_ , she said once. But all of it in a playful manner, before she knew how everything would eventually turn out. Worse for both of them, although he seemed to enjoy himself and his criminal doings. 

"Hel-lo. Where is the politeness these days, hmm?" His voice was too stretched. He spoke with an accent she hadn't noticed before. "Seems I'll have to start the meeting. Well then. Dolly, I am the Joker." 

She flinched at 'dolly', and he did not miss that. His smile grew wide, showing his yellowish teeth, rotten as his core. 

"Or should I call you... _Roxanne_?" He purred. "Like that one better, don't ya?" 

Harley stared at the whole scene confused. Grabbing Roxanne's upper arm, she tried to get a response out of her. But Roxanne didn't move. 

She didn't speak, as she knew now everything is confessed, everything is torn apart. He destroyed her life twice. Once as J, once as the Joker. 

"Roxanne, what is he talking about?" Harley tried to reach her, but Roxanne's facial expression was unreadable. 

There were thousands of fears leading their battle, and they were all evident in her eyes, just her eyes. And he knew that too. He knew her too well. 

She exhaled a breath she didn't notice to hold in, grabbing a chair with anger, and sat down, staring in his eyes. 

"You remember me," she whispered, her pupils searching his face all over. But she didn't find what she was looking for. Not anymore. "How the hell you remember me?!" 

Joker bent over the table. As he spoke, his hot breaths hitting her cheeks. "Mind's a trickery, isn't it? But who are you? Maybe I don't know ya, dolly." 

"Don't call me that," she hissed. 

He smiled, his Glasgow scars smiling with him. "Ooh ooh, somebody's become fiery." 

Joker turned to look at Harley then, giving an innocent, teethless smile to her as well. "The new assistant isn't much of a fun, Dr. Quinzel. I shall request a new one for our _weekly_ seanse." 

"Roxanne, come with me. Now." 

"Uh oh, someone's in trouble," he whistled, laughing long and loud after. "Don't forget to put a _smile_ on your face, dolly. Might make it easier for you to face the devil."

"Piss off," she spat at him, giving him a look that, if looks could kill, would definitely be the end of the Joker. Let's just say they would be as disastrous as those spiky lightsabers from _Star Wars_. 

Harley pushed her into the hall, too roughly for Roxanne's own liking, and this smallest act she would have depicted as an act of defense, if she weren't aware of the fact how dangerous it is to know the prisoner. Especially when that prisoner is locked in Arkham. Even more of a sensitive issue when the said prisoner is one of the most famous, most deranged criminals in Gotham. 

"What was that, Rox?" Dr. Quinzel asked, keeping her voice lower, so the patient wouldn't be disturbed.

Roxanne was shaking, and she didn't know if it was due to her being in a furious state (which she didn't understand, since she was restless all the morning, knowing she would meet him again) or because she was still melting at the sight of that man she loved, even after all the problematic situations and emotional rollercoasters he put her through. 

_I love you._

He told her that, so long ago. The same night she dyed his hair green, a colour which made him shine uniquely than before. She was so lost in those words, eternal words illuminated with blinding light, serving the purpose of hiding the madness that was slowly but surely taking over him, that she didn't even dare to question any of peculiarities that were a part of their everyday life. It crossed her mind later, when she was on the college. 

"I didn't know you know each other," Harleen said, with an admixture of hurt in her voice. 

Roxanne's eyes narrowed at the spoken words. "I don't know _him_. I knew who he was."

"And why you didn't tell me?"

She shrugged off her shoulders. It was one of those actions she would take when there was too much of insecurity in the air around her, when she didn't know what to say. 

"You know I will have to report that to the head of institution?" she asked her, and Roxanne sensed she was battling between professionalism and newly developed friendship. 

One of the things Roxanne was able to pick up about Harleen was the fact she was terribly, utterly lonely; the doctor herself told her that, as they were growing closer during the emails and video-meetings. She found out that Harley was never among those too popular, not only because of her poor, dysfunctional family background, but of her own shyness too. There was a lot she knew about her friend's childhood, and there was almost nothing Harley knew about her. As she had burned herself in the past, Roxanne dared not to let anyone else in. Ever. 

"You can do what you want, Harley. You can do what you're obligated to do. There will be no hard feelings on my side," she said. 

"I won't turn you in if you tell me the whole truth of your relationship with the patient," Harley said back. There was a visible warning present in the tone of her voice and Roxanne knew how all of this would play out was undoubtedly on her choice. 

So she decided to play the game securely. 

"I think you can sense who he was to me."

"The ex-boyfriend you've told me about recently?"

"Yes. That was... him," Roxanne responded. 

"You were in the romantic relationship with the Joker?"

Roxanne nodded, although she felt more like rolling her eyes at the obvious question. "Well, everyone has to start somewhere? He did have a life before he got... famous." 

"Can you tell me about his past?" Harley asked. Seeing the way Roxanne's head snapped in her direction, she hurried to add, "I am interested because of the... medical files. About... the patient profile." 

"What do you know about him till now?" 

Harley shifted from one leg to other, as if they stepped into unknown area. "What I came to find out about him was that he's had a very dark, troubled past. He gave me a hint that those scars were... made by the side of somebody close. Possibly a family member." 

"Did he say which one?" Roxanne asked cautiously. 

"So... it's true? It was a family?" 

"Yes, his ste-"

"Father, yes, father. There were the stories on the street. As you probably know, the Joker was... offering various versions of them to his victims."

Roxanne didn't know why, but she shivered at the alone thought of J terorizing the citizens with the made-up stories of his origin. She heard of the confusion he caused on the party at Wayne's, when Rachel Dawes was pushed through the window, saved by the hands of Batman in the last second. It didn't help her though; she died days later in an explosion. 

Fire. Flames. The plans. 

_What are those for?_

_Those plans will make Gotham burn. We plan to burn it to the ground._

But there wasn't 'we'.

He did it. He did it all by himself. He burned the Gotham's spirits down. But not the city they both hated. 

"... and those are the only facts we collected through these past few years since he's been captured. However, these notes from the pages 3 to 7 were written by a psychologist who worked here before I came. She was the Joker's former doctor." 

Roxanne looked at Harley, disoriented for a moment. She let herself be dragged away by another thoughts, the obsession that began the same day she left Gotham, and that had been lasting till present day. There was no word, no gossip that she didn't know of. She examined all the sources of the Joker's operating process. She investigated all the Joker's victims. 

She knew about the motive; J was always fascinated with the destructive forces, fires, easy weapons... he claimed to be, and he was, a guy of simple taste. 

She only didn't understand why was he so obsessed with the Batman. Where was the point in it? 

💚💜💚💜

She was staring at him the whole seanse. 

Harley had the lead in the talking, while Roxanne was meant to only observe the interactions with patients, the ways of behaving during the interaction, as well the crucial time when patients show the emotion of agitation or fury. She learned about a secret point in those times, and now, when she thought about it, it actually made a lot more sense: all the prisoner cells were equipped with a wall glass, as opaque as the ones used in the police interrogation rooms. Two or three of medical staff would stay behind it, carefully watching the patient's movements and, if at any moment the psychiatrist or their assisstant showed two fingers outstretched behind their backs, they would intervene and get the patient out of there before he or she attacks the doctors. They were known as 'The First People on the Defensive Line'. Well, that was a slight joke; however, everybody appreciated their service. 

So Roxanne was aware of them standing behind, observing the scene just as much as she was. But, the hell, who could be sure about Joker's reaction? 

He held a reputation for being unpredictable. 

And the question forms itself in her mind. 

"Where is your secret lair?" she asked abruptly.

Joker's eyes snapped towards her, his attention completely landing on Roxanne now. "Hmm?"

"Roxanne, what are you doing?" Harley said with reluctance, unhappy that patient paid his time to listening her. "You know there are themes I have to follow-" 

"There must be one, Harley," she replied back, and soon her eyes were on his dark brown again. "He's a criminal. He's got one. He's got somewhere to hide during the day." 

"Rox-" 

"Haven't you?" she spat at him, and almost, _almost_ , felt the corner of her lips turning into a smile. She hid it however, Harley didn't see the glimpse of it, but J did. Oh, he did catch that. 

And he liked that. 

"The place," he said, his voice too calm and indifferent. 

"The place?" 

"The place," he repeated, thus ending the conversation.

Roxanne leaned at the back of her seat. The urge to smile was overly present. Instead of giving him the satisfaction, as she knew he was only waiting for it, she crossed her arms and winked at Harley. She wasn't feeling easy-going; no, she was beyond terrified of his influence on her and the normality of three of them sitting in a claustrophobic room, two of ex-lovers chatting with a hint of sarcasm and good times, and one being hinged and corrupted. But, out of three, who was the one to hold the hook? 

"And you, dolly-" 

"Don't call me that, I say," Roxanne cut off, but he seemed untouched by the remark.

"And where have you been all this time? Hm?" he practically purred, leaning on the table, staring at her without even blinking.

Another thought formed in her mind, and it was the idea of Joker being like a cat who changes his alliances as quickly as he stumbles upon new prey. And most importantly - _the hell am I thinking?_

"Far away from Gotham," she retorted, leaning on the table as well. Now she had full access to his face. She could sense his smell: make-up, sweat, chalk and gunpowder. "Far away from your madness." 

He burst out laughing. And he did it for next ten straight minutes which the girls spent occassionally glancing at each other. 

Finally, Harley was the one to stop this circus. 

"May we proceed?" 

"Ah, ah," he chuckled once more. "You should ask our lovely doll over there." 

Dr. Quinzel sighed. "Roxanne?" 

"Yes, we can proceed," she replied, already looking him in the eyes. 

"Good choice, dolly," he winked at her.

Harley did not miss that. 

And she certainly did not like that. 

"All right," she collected herself together quickly, as it was in her best intention not to let those feelings show up. "Joker. I would like to ask you about your childhood." 

"Haven't we discussed it before, doctor?" Joker said darkly, his tongue darting over his lips. "You know, I might not remember everything exactly as the last time we opened... ah, _the wound_." 

"Because the mind is a trickery?" Roxanne interjected.

"Ha ha... ha," Joker faked the laugh. "A quick learner. But do tell me, dolly, who's got your leash?" 

Roxanne jumped forward, ready to hit her former lover in the clownish face, but Harley stood between her and him, causing herself to sit on the table. Being with her back facing Joker was a very stupid, very reckless idea. 

"Roxanne, please. Don't interrupt the seanse," Harley spoke with calm voice, and Roxanne felt her fear. 

_Fear of what?_

"Please, wait for me in the hallway," she held her forearm and opened the door slowly. "I need to take care of the patient."

Roxanne did not miss this evidence for her deeply buried theory.

And she met her another fear the same day. 

💚💜💚💜

The cell opened and she saw Harley going out. But the Joker was still inside, and she could see him grinning at her, yelling after. 

"I shall say I'm looking forward to seeing ya again, dolly." 

She growled at the statement.

"You too, Miss Quinzel." 

Harleen's face got redder. She offered a short, silent chuckle as a response. 

_Like a little girl whose crush noticed them._

_Oh Jesus, she's in love. Deep, deep in love with this sociopath._

"Harley, can we talk?" Roxanne stepped closer, bit unsure of how to start this obviously needed conversation. "I think this is... kind of sensitive issue." 

Harleen arranged her papers and nodded, closing the door behind. "Yes, I believe this is a issue we need to converse about. Your two outbursts today were-"

"I am not referring to my angry tendencies when I see that man," Roxanne cut off. "You can say what you want about it later. I want to talk about you and your relationship with the Joker."

"What relationship? I am his psychiatrist and he is one of my patients," Harley played naive.

"Are you sure that is the only connection of yours to him?"

"What are you trying to say?" 

Roxanne focused on her, ready to spit out another proof of her theory. 

"You've fallen for him, haven't you?" 

And there it was, the reaction: Harleen's eyes stared wide at her, taking step back and hitting the wall. 

Horrified face with trembling lower lip.

"You have," Roxanne confirmed. 

"You...," Harley started, still in disbelief at the Roxanne's brave words. Was she so easy to be read? 

Knowing she'll have to defend herself, somehow explain, although there was nothing to defend, nothing to explain, only to agree with the said truth, Harleen replied back impulsively. 

"And you haven't fallen for him yourself, Roxanne?" 

_You cannot call me out on that._

"Been there, done that," Roxanne tried to sound indifferent. "It was a mistake I am not willing to make ever again." 

"That's just cruel." 

" _He_ was a mistake."

"You don't understand, Rox! He had a tragic past." 

_That_ tickled her nerves. 

"Yes, he was a boy abused by a family; but, when you look at it that way, who isn't marked by their family background?" 

"Roxanne-" 

"I," she glanced at Harley with fury in her eyes, "really do _suppose_ that's such an unusual case for a psychiatrist! Get it together, Harls."

Then the door opened, revealing amused Clown prince, led by two medical assistants on each side. 

Judging by the grin on his face, Roxanne knew he heard them. She gave a quick glance at her friend, only to see Harley looking at the Joker in both fascination and embarrassment. His eyes were stalking them, looking at Harley with slight curiousity, and examining Roxanne's will by stubborn gaze that was either hardening or daring. 

And God, did she hate him in that moment.

"She's got it, Har-leen. She understands, you know," he laughed out loud and turned his head up to look past her. 

Now his eyes stared only at his dolly. 

_They softened a little._

"She understands," he repeated quietly, and Roxanne thought she imagined him say it. It was too silent to be rightly heard. 

"Let's go, clown boy", one of the assistants tapped his shoulder and Joker made a disgusted grimace. 

_He hated being touched by people._

They took him away down the hallway. Roxanne's eyes landed on Harley's shocked face and she saw the tears forming on the verge of her eyes. 

She knew what she had done and how much it hurt. 

_When did I become so evil?_

"Harls, I'm sorry, I-"

"I think it would be the best for you to take few days off," Harley interrupted. "Just till you get... all of this out of your organism." 

They heard him chuckling and looked in the direction of his voice. He muttered things to himself - probably one of his demented jokes; his shoulders were dancing up and down as he was breaking into laughter. Manic, insane, _but truthful_ , laughter. 

Roxanne's attention turned to Harley again. She was still looking down the hallway.

"Harls-" 

"Gotham is toxic, right?" she whispered, finally looking up at her harsher friend's face (which Roxanne deeply regretted). Then, she left, rushed away from her as fast as she could. 

Because Harley was hurt again. She was let down again. 

Roxanne stood there and didn't move for what seemed to be hours and hours of self-questioning herself. Until someone screamed, far away behind the white walls, and nearer than she'd wanted them to be, that she jumped apprehensive.

_You hurt me so I can hurt everyone else._

💚💜💚💜

The morning after, dr. Harleen Quinzel was sitting at a desk in her office on third floor. 

She tried to go through many of patient files, noting the cases she left for today and the ones she intended to connect Roxanne with. It passed an hour or two, but her work that day wasn't going anywhere, as her mind constantly ran with thoughts, some disturbing, and other benevolent. All of them were circling around her best friend and a beloved patient. 

She looked at the flowers in her porcelain vase. Red roses, red as blood, the kind she liked the most (and the one thing she did know about Roxanne was that she prefered irises). They were waiting for her at the entrance of the office, with a simple, straight cut piece of paper (as Rox had a thing for order) written with her thin but heavy handwriting. It was an apology note. 

_Dear Harley,_

_I am very sorrowful of the things I've said. I only want the best for you. And this man - trust me, I know it - is not good for you._

_He is not good for anyone._

_Once again, forgive me._

_Rox._

She read the note exactly three times. There was something she was searching for, although she didn't know if it was because of delusional thought she often repressed, as it was very haunting but untamed, or because she wanted to see a spark of devotion between them yesterday. There was something going on between them, yes, she was sure. May it be a product of the past, yes, but the closeness she witnessed day before was anything but a final word in the chapter of their story. 

Harley had always been the genius, the profound young lady with a bright future in front of her. She already saw herself with a steady career, certainly a few medical awards, as she worked on many researches too. But there was never a picture of love she was thirsting for, from her abusive father to abusive ex-boyfriends. 

Till she found it one day. The love in a shape of a stranger man with enigmatic personality and equally shady past; the prince of the streets, fighting the selfishness and hypocrisy in humans with the best trump card up his sleeve: fire and dynamites. 

There were few occassions when the Joker liked to talk about the weapons he used in the attacks on Gotham's highly positioned people. He was very keen to talk about the knives, for which he claimed to be very fond of ( _"Wanna know why I use a knife?" "Why, Joker?" "The tip of the knife holds some... similarities_ _with a scythe. And I feel like a Reaper when I show people their true selves before they die. Ha ha ha!"_ ). 

But only one weapon was never discussed about, as she found he held it very dear: a purple switchblade. She asked him about it, he refused to give a response. She tried to dig up the meaning of it, he refused to give an explanation. Yet she knew he was thinking about it most of the time. His hand was always reaching for it, in his pocket, even if he was aware of not finding it there. 

It was too personal and far too his to share the secret with anybody. But Harley hated being anybody, especially to him. 

Her fingers reached for the phone on the left side of the desk. There was a slight hesitation for a moment, but she quickly let it pass. 

The called person wasn't answering, but Harley decided to be persistent in her intentions, not breaking the call, hoping she would actually answer. 

But she didn't. Of course she didn't. 

The automatic mail replied, and Harley let out an exhausted sigh. 

"Hello. It's me. Harley," she started hesitantly. "I understand you wish me well, Rox. I appreciate it." 

_But I loved him when he was Mr. J._

"I forgive you. How could I not? You're my only friend."

_I loved him and I listened to him, when you left him during the bad times. Very bad times._

"But I am still fond of thinking you should have a week off. To gather some good moods and maybe visit people you know. Do you have a relative or family? I can't remember if you told me. Just... be well, okay? I'm saying this as a pyschologist now. I've noticed you hold grudges for this city, and I, hah, suppose that's the reason why you're at the edge all the time," she tried to sound a bit merrier, "But you need to snap out of it, all right? You need to be well if you want to be productive." 

Harley stopped there for a short amount of time. She was in need of saying something, declaring something out loud, which the alone thought of it made her feel sick and uneasy. 

As a serious psychologist, the familiarity of the feeling disgusted her. But as a star-crossed lover, she felt the rush of adrenaline at the sensation of it. 

"We can talk about the... other thing when you're back. Maybe we would both cool off a bit. Wish you well. Bye!"

_I love the Joker. I love that poor, misunderstood soul._

_I need to help him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly sorry for letting you wait so long. As I mentioned to some of you, I've lost quite a bit of inspiration for the story; but you needn't worry. I will not leave the project uncomplete.  
> If I'm to be honest, the second part of the story (later chapters) are the ones I am more focused on, they are intriguing my imagination more so this first part of it is... not sliding very well. (In my personal opinion story will be better when it reaches its climax - this is just an interlude into drama).  
> I am a bit unsure of this chapter, but it was all that wanted to leave this head of mine so... I would really appreciate the feedback on this one. More than ever.  
> I'm interested in how do you see the characters, do you like the way I write them, do you like the character of Roxanne or if there is something that bugs you about her.  
> (I know I sound insecure and, yes, I am)
> 
> But thank you all :-)


	4. Relive The Memories

> _"Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness_
> 
> _I need to calculate_
> 
> _What creates my own madness"_
> 
> _~ Getting Away With Murder by Papa Roach_

_"I am the Joker."_

_His mind is a series of images, one more disturbing than the other. He enjoys them all, however._

_They are his memories. They are the same definition of his antics, his attempts to show the world what it truly is, and what are the so-called society's roots._

_But the purest form of what his meaning is in both the criminal (as he had to accept the fact of being in that kind of a social mold, to his greatest despise) and the hierarchy world was hidden, embodded by the same meaning of who (or what) Batman is._

_"You... complete...me."_

_Doesn't he after all? He laughs in his cell. He yells his name in the inner part of his psyche._

_Who is the main catch?_

_"The Batman."_

_How will he get him?_

_He knew. Of course Joker knew._

_-_

_"My father... one night, he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself."_

_But does she?_

_Didn't she back away like a coward?_

_Ha ha, she showed her truest self._

_-_

_"My father... He sticks the blade in my mouth."_

_What for? Did he find it amusing to do so?_

_Did he tell a joke?_

_He probably did tell a joke._

_"Why so serious?"_

_Did he not get the joke?_

_"Let's put a smile on that face."_

_A metal in the corner of his mouth._

_Somebody screams. Then a man laughs._

_-_

_"I hated my father!"_

_But was he a father?_

_He hated me too!_

_-_

_He sees Rachel. Among the others._

_Reminds him of somebody familiar._

_"Hello, beautiful."_

_Reminds him of **her**._

_"You are beautiful."_

_-_

_"So I had a wife..."_

_He thinks he did. He believes he did._

_He must have had a wife._

_There was a ring?_

_But what happened to her?_

_"She leaves."_

_She runs away!_

_But who was she, who was she?_

_Hm... something starting with R._

_-_

_A thought in his mind. Circling like a shark. Biting him as a snake._

_"...stick a razor in my mouth ('in my heart', screams the youthful voice. So close to his one, a tiny bit similar, without an accent.)_

_Who is the young man behind that invisible curtain?_

_He sees a face, a face with scars, but he sees no eyes._

_'Who is there', can he say?_

_"Knock knock. Who's there? A No-Man Face! Ha ha ha ha!"_

_They called him J._

_-_

_"Now I see the funny side."_

_(Well, it is a funny world we live in.)_

_"Now I'm always smiling!"_

_(What is there in this world not to laugh about?)_

_-_

_There's a name that comes up._

_It's tricky, running near and swimming away as soon as his attention falls down to it._

_It angers him._

_The people whose skin he wants to crawl under, the ones he decides to test upon their morals and limits; he hates when they don't want to play._

_He hates when they walk, but likes when they run._

_He hates when they are in control, but adores when they are true to their natural corruption and fear._

_He?_

_He's off the hook; but, at least, he is not the Captain._

_-_

_Bats:_

_You and I, we are destined to do this forever._

_-_

_Roxanne._

_"Someday, somebody is going to hate your name," she warned him._

_"Someday, some people are going to suffer because of your actions," she... taunted him._

_Ha ha ha._

_What is there that is not taunting in the society? What is there not worthy of disdain?_

_What is not worthy of chaos?_

-

_Purple switchblade. He needs his purple switchblade._

_-_

_Ah, I need to get Bats out of his cave. Things have become... boring._

_But how will I get him?_

-

_"We don't devour our demons, J."_

_But. Who. Is. J?_

_"He's dead."_

_But who was he?_

_-_

_Ah, ah._

_Bats, Bats._

_This game of yours... Hiding!... I don't like that._

_-_

_Miss Quinzel._

_Dr. Quinzel._

_Hm..._

_Harleen Quinzel._

_Ha ha ha ha ha!_

_Harlequin!_

-

_Three pawns in a game: Bats, Harlequin and Dolly._

_Joker's pawns._

-

_"I'm a man of my word."_

_(And I will play a little game.)_

_He is the Joker._

_And he knows exactly who he will use._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a chapter of Joker's POV
> 
> I played with the idea of the Joker being aware of his origins, maybe somehow unsure of what they actually were; all the three original stories are true, but mixed up. In a way, he's telling his life story, but changing some aspects (rather subconsciously) so he doesn't deal with it.  
> (Since he's been through many of betrayals, lies, violence etc. that his mind just shut down under all the hatred he felt, and diverted itself onto more chaotic, destructive forces.)
> 
> P. S. This song at the beginning is actually the one that inspired me the most to do this chapter (it does have its purpose nevertheless)
> 
> P. P. S. The little dashes between words are used to show how the Joker's mind skips from one memory to another, cutting short the other thoughts. However, they all make a parallel with what's about to happen, they are all equally representing the view of the past and include the complete backstory from "J".
> 
> P. P. P. S. (I've got to be insane today, sorry)  
> I just wanted to say that everybody has the complete right to ask anything about this story and its progress (unless it's a spoiler - then my lips are sealed) or offer a critique.  
> I know I've written it in comments, but I don't know if everyone reads them. What I want you to know is: every single one of you is precious to me and I am beyond happy when I hear you out. So don't be afraid to ask me anything; I don't bite 😉  
> Everybody's equal and everybody's got the right to say their thoughts out loud  
> 


	5. Sign A Death Wish

> _"I fought my hardest to try_
> 
> _While you tried your hardest to fight_
> 
> _And when I looked down into your eyes_
> 
> _Your love was gone"_
> 
> _~ Do You Remember Yesterday? by Michael Malarkey_

_I understand you wish me well. I appreciate it._

Roxanne took a whole week off the work, as she was suggested to do. Her pride, the only thing she really had under her own control, stopped her from answering the call she received from Harley. However, she did listen to the automatic mail that was left by her. 

She couldn't voice her worries out loud, for the fear of causing too much trouble, but also drawing attention to herself. She was aware that her acquaintance with the Joker already _did_ draw attention. Roxanne didn't know how many of the staff got the news of that strange day, or how many of them actually witnessed to the scene that played out behind the bulletproof glass, but she was sure to be the center of gossip for the week she was missing.

Harley's confession of love was tough for Roxanne, and she felt it affecting her. The decisions she was about to make, or the ones she would've made in situations like this, were all locked behind the blurry window of her mind. And when she couldn't think clearly, choose the options with her best rationality; well, what could she had done? 

_Do you have a relative or family? I can't remember if you told me._

That. 

Was.

Off. 

The.

Table. 

Definitely. 

💚💜💚💜

That question led her here. 

It was bugging her, long and deep enough to make her - or rather force her - to come to the same place she was running away from, successfully, for many of years. 

In front of her, at the alone end of Gotham (more precisely, at the part of the city where its criminal crowd and a few fair group of citizens couldn't afford to live) existed a resort of high expensive houses, aiming entirely for the riches and their oh-so-precious-money. It was a complex, reserved for the finest of the elite society Gotham could offer. Even the Waynes owned a real estate here; large, spacious villa with a personal butler, award-winning garden and, expectedly, a pool. Now that the Waynes were dead, and their son Bruce, a famous playboy, but also a generous patron, got all of the inheritance, the villa was left to rot. Although rumor had it that Bruce Wayne kept a collection of the fanciest and rarest vintage oldtimer cars in the garage behind the villa.

_Rich people and their rich problems. For God' sake, how did I get born into such poverty of human morals and behaviours?_

Every step further she took, Roxanne was more and more surprised that she still knew the way to her parents' house. Also, her old, primal, opulent mansion. 

_Well, it is a fucking mansion._

J knew the reasons of why she left her home. He knew what had happened, how the things worsened in the course of two weeks, and how Roxanne's patience vanished, dried off when her wealthly father gave her a black eye and her mother spit on her. All of the rage, fury and fights because of a simple choice she made that year, a choice that was specifically a point of her self-improvement.

He knew the reasons. But he never asked her why she lived in the rusty, old apartment instead of an elite mansion. He never cared for the materialistic kinds of stuff, and she always suspected that attitude of his a product of his own family's poverty, which raised him into a humble man with too many anger issues. 

And how did that boy become such a gruesome, terroristic figure? How did she lay down with him in the past nights, lulled into a perfect dream, with some unknown dread sleeping in it? 

Where did she go wrong with him? 

She still loved J. But she didn't like the Joker. 

Roxanne eyed the mansion hidden behind a gothic fence. 

All the lights were shut down, the garden looked dirty and neglected. She heard no bark (her father had undying and somewhat lucid love for rottweilers, a love so grand that he often replaced his own daugther for the prosperity of dogs).

_Are they... Are they even alive?_

Judging by the appearance of the exterior, and the lack of human voices and figures in the interior of the mansion, she came to a conclusion of her parents being... either deceased or... somewhere else. Away. Somewhere where she could never find them if she ever dares to come back. 

Roxanne couldn't know for sure, of course, but this comprehension pained her. If they died, she never got a true chance to apologise. If they moved away, she got her longtime suspected truth a positive answer - she was never really loved by them anyway. As long as she was their trophy, as long as they had the opportunity to show her around to their bestest friends and bitter enemies, no matter the fact of how young and naive she was; then she was a kid good enough for them.

Until she cut the strings of her accepted fate. 

_What did I say? You're **not** going to blame yourself for their mistakes. You're **not** going to suffer more. Or anymore. Not because of the scums like them. _

One of the decisions she was brave to make that warm evening: never coming back to the past, not even for a glance of comfort or a familiarity of face. The past was dead; her's, J's, Rachel's, Batman's, Harvey's,... and everybody else's pasts were dust. Everybody's games set this city aflame, but only one of them went for the destruction. 

Only one of them understood the rules, and he broke them. He broke them because he despised rules set upon his parade. 

_For the sake of normality, get out of my head, J._

"Dolly." 

"What?" she turned around to see in the dark, confused and terrified beyond belief. It only took her a moment to come back to her senses, and her night perception convinced her there was no sign, no footsteps of the Joker. Of her nightmare. 

_He's not here. He can't be here._

She was hallucinating. That was it; she only heard what she was afraid to hear, what she _wanted_ to hear. Her nickname slipping off his lips. Her weapon disappearing in the palm of his hands. 

_He can't be here, but he's playing with my head. Get out!_

She grabbed the tendrils of the fence and shook them with insane ferocity. They creaked as she went on and on, crying silently as she was letting go of her former life. The life that was breaking and breaking the more she tried to save and fix it. 

"Get out!" she screamed. 

For the first time since she was in Gotham, her inner madness finally got out. 

Roxanne leaned over the trash container. 

She was struggling with the item she held in her right hand. It was, actually, a music instrument. 

Her ukulele. Her music that connected her with an unrepentant lover. Her Phantom of the opera with two facial scars to form a sincere smile.

She clenched the handle of the instrument. 

So many of songs she sang for him, so many of the laughter and smiles he gifted her with for her 'musical service'. 

But that was his happiest memory. So it was all worth it. 

Not for her. She was the one who got away with the pain, while J got away with insanity. 

Roxanne wrinkled her nose and tossed the item away. 

"It's a memory, but memories shouldn't be kept forever. Not if they hurt you," was the last she said. 

💚💜💚💜

She returned to Arkham next Monday morning. Almost instantly, as she stepped on the ground that belonged to the asylum, Roxanne noticed something was out of ordinary. 

It was early, somewhere around 7:30 am. But all the lights, on all the floors, sparkled bright. She heard stirring and shouting. At the some corner of the institution, the red alarm went screeching. 

That was enough to make her run inside, to see if somebody got injured. Because something was definitely happening, and it wasn't good. 

The entrance hall was full of smoke. She tried to make her way to the stairs, immediately thinking about J. She suspected all of this _chaos_ had a lot to do with him. 

_He's positioned on the third floor._

But it was extremely hard to see through the smoke that surronded her. She was flapping with her arms through the air, but the more she tried, the less she was able to decipher in what direction she was going. 

She felt lost in this labyrinth. And the only picture in her mind, as her heart began beating in panic, was the Reaper in purple coat sneaking behind her back, ready to aim for her head with a knife, greeting her with red smile and black eyes. 

She waved her head, trying to delete the picture from her head. Now was not the best time for such twisted need of such brutal death. 

She breathed out and in, coughed a little due to the smoke and went forward. 

_This is what Hell must be like_ , she thought. _All smoke, fire and suffocating. 100% a place for the Joker to end up at._

Roxanne couldn't remember the last time she was thinking about J (or the Joker) that much, since he'd always been on her mind, but this... This was really growing into an obsession.

And there was proof for, well, another theory of hers in the thought following the first one. 

_If J ends up in Hell, I'd likely go after him._

She stood in place, frozen. What was happening to her mind? Was she going crazy?

Then she felt a hand on her left shoulder and shouted. 

It was Julien, one of the psychiatrists working there. She met him on her first (and, how it seemed, last) workday. 

Such a relief it wasn't the person she was thinking of, both sweet and terrifying. 

He smiled politely at her. "Are you okay? Things are out of control here." 

Roxanne nodded. "What's going on?"

"Somebody bombed us," he sighed. "The East and the North wing are damaged. They are temporarily closed." 

Panic danced waltz in her heart. "Where are the prisoners?" 

"The system locked them in their cells." 

"When did this happen?" 

He watched her incertainly. "Almost two hours ago. You haven't heard it on TV?" 

"I don't watch TV." 

His brow lifted. "Never?" 

"Anymore," she replied. 

"Oh." 

"Unless it's some 'nerd' stuff. But not anything else. Especially the news. Never, ever the news again." 

Her eyes looked up to his emerald ones. She noticed how puzzled he looked.

"Is there any chance I said that out loud?" 

"Aha," he quickly nodded. 

"I'm sorry. When I'm under pressure and slowly panicking, I tend to speak nonsense." 

"For panicking, I would usually prescribe you calm thoughts and one-object focus," he chuckled, but his expression turned to serious in a snap. "But that wouldn't seem like the greatest therapy in this moment." 

"How do you mean 'this moment'?" 

"Come with me, we'll better hide." 

"Hide?" 

"Ah," he sighed again. Roxanne didn't believe that much sighing would bring him something nice in the future. He was too young to sigh like a frail, old man. 

"Is there something more you didn't tell me? Who are we in the need of hiding from?" she asked, persistent. 

"All... All patients were locked in their cells. But the one was broken. Knocked few times with a bat."

"And the one patient broke out freely?" 

"Yes."

"The one of those dangerous ones? With a red mark over their file?" 

"Yes," he repeated the answer weakly. 

Roxanne took a step back, as she was now insecure of the allegiance of anyone in this building. Only then she discovered how _quiet_ it was all the time as they conversed with each other. 

"Who?" she asked and prayed not to know the answer. 

"The Jo-," his lower lip trembled just a bit. "The Joker." 

She knew the answer all along, _damnit_.

Then, the screechy laughter filled the hallways.

A loud bang that almost left her deaf. 

Horrified looks they gave each other as they found themselves understanding who is coming. 

Then another bang! More laughter!

They both sank down to floor as the darkness took over the driver's seat. 

💚💜💚💜

The first thing she thought of as she woke up was to look for Julien. 

She wished she didn't. 

Julien was laying next to her, his body positioned at the wrong angle, very wrong angle.Those beautiful emerald eyes she grew to love in spite of the short time she spent in his company were now covered with transparent white layer. They stared lifelessly, watching something behind her back in horror. 

But her own horror showed itself when her attention fell to the reason of his unfortunate death: the open cut on his throat. From ear to ear, to form a smile. A bloody smile. 

She instinctively got up, walked away from his body, still staring at it and shaking as her breathing echoed violently in her head and ears. Her panicking heart started throbbing much quicker than before. She thought she cried, but couldn't be sure of the fact, since her only reaction was a numb, emotionless stare at the words, words written in Julien's blood, which circled around his wet hair, saying: _HA HA HA HA HA_

She heard of deaths before, she went to funerals of beloved people, no matter the minority of them she personally had known, she felt the loss of both living and dead; but seeing a brutally massacred body in front of her very eyes, and knowing it to be an act of somebody she claimed to love only seconds ago - that was new. 

She didn't like that. Not one bit. 

"You, you... _you_. Beautiful and rare at the same time, but as fragile as, ah, glass, dolly," the voice sang behind her.

Roxanne turned to face him, feeling her anger rise up in an instant. The Joker was standing there, dressed in his purple and green attire, with his face painted in fresh layers of makeup. His - _hers_ \- switchblade in his right hand, playfully tossed in the air. 

"I'm not fragile, Jo-," she stopped and looked him in the eye. "I'm not fragile." 

"Hm," he grinned. 

Only two meters seperated them. The space around her seemed tightened, claustrophobic. The little clouds of smoke still flew in the air, but it was much clearer for them to - well, at least for her - breathe normally. She watched him across the room, smirking, with his head bowed down, so only his dark eyes could be seen, swallowed in the misty sea of smoke; the scene looked almost dystopian, and his tall figure, paired with facial disfigurement, made a matching parallel with the character of the Phantom, as she thought of it before. 

"They should've kept you in the cell," she said coldly. "But let me guess... you had help." 

He clapped twice, still grinning. "Ha! I knew you'd be a ray of sunshiiine for me today!" 

"Don't you have Harley to do that for you already? Since I suppose she was the one to let you out," she snapped. "You've gotten in her head." 

The Joker looked like he was having fun. Loads of fun. "Ohoho, we are jealous, aren't we? Ha ha... Speaking of... HARLEY!"

Out of the darkness, hidden behind the Joker's broad back, a person stepped in the light. A woman dressed in red and black diamond-patterned costume, wearing a hat that reminded of those the court jesters used to wear in medieval times, to put on a show and entertain the nobles. 

It was her friend. Her mentor. 

"Harls?" Roxanne muttered, shocked. 

"I think I've found you a substitute," Joker declared, examining his new toy, new puppet, with pride and amusement. Harley swayed her lips as she hopped around, giggling girlishly, and making sure to stay close to her owner. 

When Joker asked, _Who's got your leash?_ , he might had been talking about Harley instead. He fooled her, and then he fooled the only person she'd got left. He fooled them both; one fell in love, the other fell in a trap. 

"What did you do to her?" Roxanne spat at him. 

"I?" Joker gestured at himself, giving her an innocent look. "I've done nothin', dolly. I just did what I do best; I took notice of the people's lack of virtue and turned it on itself. And you might have guessed, it wasn't hard to do so." 

"You are a monster!" she yelled at him. In a moment, Joker's grin faded away, and he crossed the space between them in a rush. Now that he was in front of her, so close she felt his hot breath on her neck, Roxanne lost her bits of shallow bravery.

"I'm a monster?" he growled low. He stared in her eyes with burning intensity. "Oh, and what that makes you? A freak?" 

"I-I'm not a freak."

"Ah, no? But I am?" 

_Yes... No?_

"Do tell me, dolly; you think I'm a freak?"

She was staring at him without blinking. No other noises she could hear in the background; she wasn't aware of anything but of him being too near her. She was Icarus, and he was the Sun. Her black Sun, no matter how contradictory the comparison sounded. 

Those who know nothing of the history shared, kept secret, between the two lovers have nothing to add. 

_Do you believe it, dolly?_

_What?_

_Do you believe it was me?_

_I do._

"I do," she confessed, the moment as the same as the one that took place five years ago. 

In an abandoned house, which was the mafia's lair, where she broke his trust, and his heart, and his spirit. Where she destroyed her dreams, and her hopes, and her mind. 

Now all she had was an ego to hide her emotinal pain with. But what did Joker have? That was far out of her reach and understanding.

"A-ha." 

Joker's face was impossible to read. Not a muscle moved, to show his hatred, or despise, whatever he felt. The tone of his voice, however, did betray him; he was offended. Deeply offended by the remark of his former lover. 

_Will he kill me now?_

"Shame, shame, you and Bats think the same! It's always the clowns to get the blame!" 

He grabbed her cheeks and pulled her up. Their noses almost collided. "But do you know what else a clown does the best? Ha? Do you?"

Roxanne waved her head, the little movement she was able to do.

"Ah, can you speak for me? You know, it'd make me... _happy_."

"No, I... I don't. I don't know."

The back part of her teeth hurt as he squeezed her cheeks harder. "They show the world what it truly is."

"Puddin'!" Harley squealed. "We should go, the cops are on our trail!"

She ran into him and hugged him from behind, her arms snaking around his chest.

The Joker grunted at the smallest of affection; he did not expect it, and he certainly did not want it. But he withdrew the switchblade and freed Roxanne's face. 

"Let go, Harley, come on. Let go!" he raised his voice, irritated, and Harley obeyed. Now she was just standing at his side and watched him imploringly. 

"Puddin', we should be goin'. The cops are coming." 

"Well, Harley, then you better find emergency exit and we'll head out that way. You don't wanna know what will happen if you fail to find one," he warned. 

Both Harley and Roxanne flinched. They knew exactly what he meant, and what he played at. 

_If you don't listen, you get to be dead. Checkmate._

"Alrighty, puddin'! I'm on my way!" 

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, but Roxanne could swear the Joker kissed her cheek. 

"Looks like it's your lucky day, pumpkin," he spoke, breathing on her icy skin, before pulling away and running in opposite direction, following in the footsteps of Harley Quinn.

"See ya in two weeks, dolly!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm... some insight in Roxanne's family?  
> But what happened? Why is she cast out?  
> (Also, the lyrics at the beginning are not pointing just at J; they are intended for her parents too.) 
> 
> The line "It's a memory, but memories shouldn't be kept forever. Not if they hurt you." is like a call-out to the previous chapter's title 'Relive The Memories'.  
> 


	6. The Name's Joker

> _"I'm not sorry I met you_
> 
> _I'm not sorry it's over_
> 
> _I'm not sorry there's nothing to save"_
> 
> _~ Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars_

He didn't come two weeks later, as he promised to do.

It had actually passed three months since the Joker broke out of the asylum. Nobody knew where he was, or had any idea of where he could be. 

She only got the threat of him coming back, and she had to wonder when it will be. It was near Christmas time when she caught herself losing sleep.

Roxanne waited, not knowing what to truly expect to happen, as the Joker held a reputation for being rather unpredictable. In the dreadful state of a mind, her thoughts were running all over, never stopping for the rest, jumping back at the same track of mental agony she began her exhausting process of thinking with.

The Joker merely wanted her to live in anticipation, delusion and fright. Perfect ingredients for a distasteful comedy. 

She started feeling unwelcomed by her own homeland. Every slightest whisper between the people, a loud thud in the darkness of the kitchen made her jump away like a scared cat. She didn't like that kind of an emotion; she was never too much of an easy scare, unless it came to the certain topics and creatures (which were family-oriented and human-sensitive themes). 

There was a need for a control, control of the events she could easily predict, or reactions of hers, as well as the ones of the people she let come nearer to her. However everything turned out to be, Roxanne had to have something solid she could eventually cling on if the present showed its uglier face. To be honest, she really didn't know how to deal with the situation she found herself to be the lead actor of; but when she stepped out of her skeptic point of view and dared to look in the eyes of the problems with stone-cold objectivity, she understood there was nothing, literally nothing to be considered normal in her life. 

Coming back to Gotham seemed to be a mistake from the beginning. And it proved itself to be that way. 

The ringing of the phone backed her away from her intrusive thoughts. Their poison already started to settle in the inner, partly mad corner of her psyche. 

_If I still believed in God as I did before, I'd thank him._

"Hello?" she half-yelled in the telephone handset. The person on the other side would clearly hear her voice trembling. 

"Excuse me, did I get Miss Roxanne Na-"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted, "That's me on the phone. Can you tell me who's calling me? It's the unknown number."

"GCPD, Miss."

_Police is calling me? Great._

"Are you still on the line, Miss?"

"Yes, yes," she repeated, this time much calmer. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"I don't know if there is. I'm just conveying a message I received," the man stated matter-of-factly, like he was dictating the grocery list. "You will need to come to the station tomorrow morning. "

"Can I transfer it to the afternoon maybe? I'm working the first shift this week."

The man let out a sigh, probably irritated with the task he had to fulfill, but did offer her some hope. "I don't think that would be a problem. Okay, tomorrow afternoon?"

"Okay. Time?" 

"Somewhere between 4 and 6 pm would be ideal." 

"I'll be there," she confirmed. "Oh, and I have one more question, sir."

"Say."

"Who wants to talk to me?"

"Commissioner Gordon."

Her feet became cold. The number one man of Gotham police wanted to speak with her. That wasn't good news. 

"Do you... do you know the reason why I'm needed to be spoken to?" she asked, but felt an inch of uneasiness crawling up her spine. What if she sounded too curious, and the cop behind the line decided it was suspicious, that she was suspicious? Would he convey his own assumptions to Gordon too?

"Sadly, I don't. As I said before, I'm just informing you."

"Oh. Well. That's... Thank you anyway. Thank you for the call."

"It is my job, Miss," he sounded confused, as if he didn't understand why was she thanking him for the most ordinary thing ever. He did catch up on her nice accent, and a colorful range of vocabulary; she must had been one of the riches (if he only knew how much despise he'd meet himself with for that thought). But to him, a boy with a dream and petty-bourgeois origins, everyone above his status was a figure to be admired to some certain extent; he was, however, a bit jealous of the money they'd possessed. 

"Of course, sir." 

"Okay. Now I have to end the call. There are several I need to make."

"Right! I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't expect to receive a call from the police, that's all," she excused herself, immediately knowing it's a bad idea. _You fool._

"Hah," he smirked to himself. He knew it; the rich girl must had done some wrong to the law. He took stereotypical pleasure in this slow torture, unaware of whole drama, of a theatre play that perfectly mimicked the real life happening behind the closed walls. That's why he saw no danger in the next step, adding a sentence that seemed completely harmless.

"Just don't leave the city, Miss Napier." 

No one... 

No one knew she took J's surname after she left Gotham.

No one knew she was that desperate to not let go.

But Roxanne knew the Joker will use this information in his advantage if he finds out.

_But there's none of the holy spirits in this world but a devil._

💚💜💚💜

All the various themes were investigated, from her level of professionalism and friendship with her mentor, dr. Quinzel, to the close encounter with the Joker, which surprisingly left her alive.

The latter was one of two things Gordon especially expressed his wish to dig down deeper; that much was clear to Roxanne. 

But she refused to denounce J. Her reasons to keep him secret, to keep the Joker's identity secret were woven of personal selfishness. She took liking in keeping him just to herself, savouring all those little moments and emotions they felt, shared, and eventually lived through together. 

She didn't like this part of her persona. It was something she tried to hide from. But it was never too easier in doing so. Studying psychology helped her understand the epitome of her behaviour.

The root of it was in the firm neglection she received from not one, but both of her parents, whose distance and a lack of words of respect and parental love left her craving for more. It pushed her to the edge where she had to make a decison, knowing fully well how much damage it could create, like a crater, to the family. 

But the family was false and she grew up to know something about 'going your ways vindictive'. 

However it turned out, Roxanne's absence of love in that area made her go looking for it somewhere else, at the same time as she started to develop that irritating fear of loneliness. 

That's how she met J. 

And now, a part of her was still sickly depending on him. 

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Now known under the alias Harley Quinn," Gordon stated, showing a photo on the left, and a photo on the right side of the table. "What was your relationship with her?" 

Roxanne swallowed her saliva before she decided to speak, as naturally as she could pretend to be. "I suppose you are aware of the fact she was my mentor at the Arkham Asylum. That's where I work." 

"Yes, I am aware," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. It didn't seem like it was his first one today. "Go on." 

"She was a very kind friend of mine. She got me the apartment I now live in, gave me all the best tips at working. She basically took me under her wing." 

"I was informed of you being ordered to take a week off of work. Because of a fight that happened between you and the doctor." 

"Which interests you because?" 

"Because the Joker escaped a week after, and the mentioned doctor was the one to break him out of the asylum."

"And your point is...?" 

"I think you may have known something about it." 

"Listen, Commissioner. I confronted her, I admit. But I did it in a good manner. She's in love with him."

"And you didn't react?" 

"It never occured me she would actually bail him out of the cell. It didn't even cross my mind." 

"You have never done anything crazy for love?" he smiled, taking another long sip. 

_I fell in love with crazy._ "No, I didn't."

"Good," he said, putting his cup down. To his regret, there was no more coffee left. _Guess I'll have to make a new one._ "You probably ask yourself why I haven't spoken to you sooner." 

"Actually, I do not," she said back and crossed her arms. She was nervous and Gordon took notice of that. 

"That's good too," he laughed slightly, but it sounded more like a tired wince. "I'll introduce you to the situation: we had a strong foundation to believe dr. Quinzel was abducted and therefore painfully tortured, but the recent video recordings convinced us otherwise. They show the mayhem the Joker and Quinn are spreading on the streets. You've probably seen those." 

"No, I did not," Roxanne replied sternly.

"They were broadcasted live," Gordon tried. 

"I don't watch television," she explained. 

"That's certainly something I don't hear every day. Or ever," he laughed again, and this time sounded more sincere. 

"Well, I just don't like it. It's not my cup of tea," she replied back, neutral as an Ice Queen. 

_Liar, liar, pants on fire._

"Anyway... What I wanted to say is that.... your friend, dr. Quinzel, is working alongside the Joker. As I mentioned before, under the name Harley Quinn. They've together committed a triple homicide and a heist against the new mob gang in Gotham." 

"And what do you want to say with this? That it's my fault she ended up in his jaws?" 

Gordon waved his head. "No. I just wanted to reassure you. I know it's hard to lose somebody like that." 

"She was just my friend, nothing else," Roxanne fought back, keeping her tears and screams locked inside her chest. "If she decided to go that way and help that sociopath, there's nothing I can do about it." 

"I understand," Gordon said respectively. 

"Is that all you wanted to talk to me about? To get me off your list of being a potentional helper of the Joker? 'Cause I am not that." 

"No, no, of course," he defended himself. "I don't think you're his accomplice or anything. But it's impossible to believe the Joker left you alive." 

"He left me on life because the police interfered. If there weren't your men, I'd a cold corpse now. So I believe I'm the one to be thankful."

"It's my job," he shrugged. "I have to protect the people of Gotham." 

"But not all your men were truthful and loyal to the law," she responded, hinting at something five years old.

Gordon looked at her intently, narrowing his deep blue eyes. 

"When the Joker first took over the streets. When the Batman got banished." 

"What do you want to say?" he asked cautiously.

"How can you know, Commissioner Gordon, that he won't do something similar? Try to get into your ranks? Why are you so sure you're safe?" 

"That's where you're wrong, Miss Napier," he answered. "We are never safe."

The second thing that intrigued him even more, and was closely tied with her working experience with Harley Quinn, was her Gotham origin. Roxanne listened to Gordon while he recited the facts about her that he managed to collect, from her studying at a prestige college to coming face to face with Gotham's most deranged criminal. She tried to seem unsurprised at the words he was just spilling out, but it did bug her.

There were no records of her existence in Gotham before, not under that name anyway, and she couldn't think of how to explain this. 

"See, Miss Napier, all of your accomplishments are a great success. But the most fascinated thing to me is your connection to Gotham. There is no birth certificate under the name 'Roxanne Napier'."

She greeted him with silence. Gordon understood this as a sign for him to go on. 

"However, there is one Roxanne. But she's written down as 'Roxanne Bechtel'. I suppose you're not related to her?"

Her lips almost trembled at the sound of that surname, her surname, the one she was given in the best hopes of making the ancestors proud. She waved her head, therefore denying her own roots. 

"She is the descendant of the Bechtel family. They emigrated to America from southwest Germany more than thirty decades ago. Now are among the richest families in Gotham. After the Waynes, of course."

"Why...," she caught a breath, "Why are you telling me this? You don't think I'm _that_ Roxanne?"

"You tell me. See, she went missing exactly five years ago. There was no trace of her later to be found," he said, playing with a cup of another coffee, the one he went for during the break. 

"What, maybe she's dead? You know, the riches are always on somebody's trigger."

"That's a possiblity we were met with, yes," he admitted.

"Her family looked for her?"

"Yes, they did. They reported the disappearance." 

_No, they couldn't. They didn't - did they?_

"They-they must have been worried then," she managed to say out, lowering her head down. "To have their child missing and... you know."

"Yes, that's a sad part. They never found out where she'd gone." 

"What does it have to do with me? I'm not the one you're looking for." 

"I want you to explain who are you then. Because your real name cannot be Roxanne Napier. And you cannot come to Gotham after five years under the same name of a person we are trying to locate." 

"Are you basing this on a coincidence, Commissioner?" she asked boldly. "I cannot be the only Napier out there."

"There was only one."

_Only one? How does he mean - only one?_

"Rose Napier, murdered in the clash of a mob gang," he looked up at her. "That event was the one you must have heard of." 

"Yes. I have."

"Were you related to Mrs. Napier?"

_Lie. Lie, lie, lie._

"She was a close family member of mine." 

"In the papers are not specified any family or relatives," Gordon replied, folding the notes in front of him. "Only a husband. Tim Watson, killed. Status unknown of the murderer." 

"Because... The relatives weren't specified because we were hiding." 

"We?"

"Me and my mother. We were running away from my stepfather, who was rather abusive of us. I took my relative's surname because I was scared. I didn't want him to find me," she spoke out in one breath. 

_Such a good liar, dolly. Using my own family history to cover up for yourself._

Gordon stared at her for some time. Roxanne's mind was racing, again; consumed by a whirlwind of bad thoughts, again. 

She was aware of the doubt Commissioner felt. She didn't fully convince him in her story, indeed; she arose more suspicions about herself, and now he will dig through her past, the last footsteps she made before settling for the less evil. Gordon will have to do his research, very thoroughly and neat, if he cares to find the truth that was laying behind Roxanne's jade green eyes. 

But it didn't concern her the way she believed it would. More precisely, she didn't even feel bothered if he'll ever get closer to the personality profile of hers, or if he'll scratch the turmoil surface, only to find a real Bechtel out there, unique member of a royal group of Gotham City. 

Not even the missing record of J bothered her. The fact that the GCPD will never know that the Joker was so close to be discovered, that he was a plain young man from an insecure neighbourhood, roaming the streets he now sought to destroy. 

Only one emotion, only few little words mattered in her mind, and she blinked to the rest of the world which wasn't important, never important to her well-being. 

_They cared. For a moment in their life, they cared to seek and find me._

💚💜💚💜

After she left Gordon's office, Roxanne found herself astounded at the sky going black outside. Did she spend that much time in the interrogation room? 

She didn't pay enough attention to the time, but, when she looked down at her wrist, she could see the watch showing 8:30pm. The first bus she had was setting off for an hour only, and she didn't have the will left to sit on the bus stop, waiting for it. What she wanted, and what she dreamed of, was to take a quick, hot shower and jump into comfy pajamas. 

So she decided to walk on foot till she reached her apartment. 

She felt eyes on her. She wasn't in the mood to put up with drunk men trying to seduce her, or the underaged boys trying to get their hands under her skirt (thank God for the phrase, but she was wearing no skirt.) 

However, the reality did show itself much worse. 

"Good evening," greeted a clown from the dark. 

"Good eve-," she replied on reflex, only to see him smiling at her with his yellow teeth. "What the Hell are you doing here?" 

The Joker ignored her question, glancing left and right before taking her in the darkest part of an alley. Roxanne tried to pull away, but he was stronger and tougher than her, and the fatigue and exhaustion caused her to slip on her feet. He caught her around her upper back and forced her body up. 

"No, no, dolly. Where do you think you're going?" 

"Home," she hissed, feeling her ankle starting to hurt slightly. 

"Hm," he pretended to think. "Would you like to walk with me beneath some stars? I need to talk to you about something. Something little." 

She gritted her teeth. "Do I have a choice?" 

"Hm. Not really. No," he licked his lips. "You can't hide from me, you know."

" _I know_. And I hate that fact," she stated, massaging the hurting spot in rough circles. She let out a grunt or two. 

"Oh, but why? A gentleman is always taught to shower his lady with affection." 

"Pfft, what lady? You think - your unnatural obsession with me?" 

_You created your own obsession with him, too._

_Shut up for once._

"What's up with you following me around? Got no other business? Batman, perhaps?"

The Joker flinched at the mention of Batman. Furiously, tensely, suddenly. His hand reached for his pocket in an instant, and a dark shade flew over his face. It was like he was fighting between a mad anger and an expectant rapture. 

"Maybe...," he growled, "Maybe I don't like you walking down these streets alone."

It seemed like it took unbelievable amount of energy to say such a sentence. 

"Since when do _you_ care?" she snapped at him. It was never easy, never clever enough to play with a danger like that, but somehow, she knew he will not hurt her now. Maybe later he makes up his mind, but now he will not get rid of her. There was something more at stake. 

"Ohoho, someone's become fiery," he chirped back, his newer, joyful mood taking over the 'bad guy' attitude. "Bad things could happen, dolly. Bad things could happen to the girls who don't watch themselves at night." 

"If this is your way of saying you'll kill me, go ahead then!" she roared back, getting into his colour-streaked face. "I am not afraid to die, J."

"The name's Joker," he cut off. "And I am not going to kill you, pumpkin. You are too fun to have around!"

"I thought Harley is your 'fun'," Roxanne mocked. "Where is she anyway? Maybe at your 'place'?"

The Joker smiled, but his voice and a facial expression quickly faded to serious. "Nobody goes there. Just me."

"And what do you do there?"

The next words he said were almost like a future promise, destined to be heard. They got to breathe and live freely. They lured her to hope for something that couldn't have been. 

"Remember."

Short and simple. Hitting to the bone, and therefore crushing it. Squeezing her heart till it was out of blood, and then hammering it into concrete she was standing on, disembodied. 

_Mind's a trickery. He's playing and he's fooling you._

_But what if he does remember? He did recognize me._

_Idiot. You're a damn idiot, Roxy._

There was a way for her to test her theory: J's beginnings. 

"What about...," she stumbled on changing the subject, but the Joker watched her, head tilted on side, never losing confidence. "The mobster gang you used to work for. Aren't you scared they'll connect who you are with whom you had been?" 

He laughed, then chuckled. "Ah, ah, dol-ly. Do you truly _believe_ I haven't taken care of that? They are gone, flow-er. Gone, gone, gone... GONE!" 

The buildings around the strange couple shook from the powerful shout of his. The starry night above them echoed with the satisfying hatred that hid itself in the voice that spoke violence and death; the Joker was a calling of bloodbath of the innocents and the justified trial of the hypocrites who built this city around them. 

In that right moment Roxanne's eyes opened, and she could see how deeply, and irreparable, her ex-lover went. He lost himself, he lost the beauty of what he once used to be, he let his magical aura to perish. But she also came to a conclusion that this was how J was always meant to be, and how the years she spent with him were only a pathway to the Hell he'd live in years later. There was no possible happy outcome for them. Her J was dead. Her ex-lover was dead. 

And the game they now played - it was for blood and for revenge, for broken promises and for a real, hand-to-hand combat. 

"You are not who I thought you'd be," she whispered. "You let me down."

"Expectations are a letdown, dolly. It'd be easier for you if you just... let... go."

It happened quickly: he grabbed her arms and squeezed them together against her body, then trapped her with his torso under his own. 

"You think you're so honest, so civilized? That this world is really working in your favour, and that no one's out there to get you?" he ridiculed her poor attempts to break free from his touch; he only pressed deeper, closer, and more hurtful. 

"Except for you, apparently," she panted.

"This world... it's funny to live in. It's a place where, even if you want to play _fairly_ , you need to get blood on your hands." 

"I don't believe that," she spoke, still standing her ground. The fear washing over her. 

"Ah, real-ly? I'll show you just what kind of a monster you could be," he told darkly.

💚💜💚💜

Down the street, in the dark, conveniently hidden under the broken street lamp, was a shabby old car. A man moved inside. 

"Hey! Hey! Wake up!" he shook the sleeping figure on the backseat, also a man. 

He grunted, frustrated at the mere thought of being woken up like this, in the hour that was usually reserved for his dose of good, dreamless sleep. He grabbed the driver's seat with forceful energy, thus ripping a small bit of cotton, revealing a deformed right fist. He smelled like sour beer and rotten vegetables, but considerably, he was just a homeless man with no prospects and no possible brighter future, occupying the back space of the restaurant where the cooks would throw the uneaten food and unused groceries at the end of an average working day. Until he met somebody who offered him a nice sum of money for a nice, little favour. And when a man is so below the humanity status, living in inhuman conditions, what _evil_ , what _immoral_ act he wouldn't do? 

"What is it? The prey's here?" he asked, with a thin form of Scottish accent hidden behind a rough voice.

"Yes," the first man spoke excitedly. Who knows what he got offered to to involve into such dirty action? "Both of them. See? There."

"Huh. Seems the boss wasn't kidding."

"Of course he wasn't! He would never offer a lot of money for absolute nothing!"

The Scot scratched his ruffled hair. "They offered you money too?"

The man looked at him wide eyed, as he was staring at a strange alien from outer space. "Obviously, they did. You think I'd be doing this for... what, a tea party and a castle with unicorns? The Hell is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing," the Scot replied, his voice hinting at some despicable sadness in his mind, a sadness only a pint of beer could resolve. "I'm Moray, by the way."

"So?"

"We haven't introduced ourselves. That's all," he mumbled.

The man rolled his eyes, but accepted the socially imposed norm and nodded, giving away his name into wind as if it was not even his. "Bill."

Moray nodded too, quite happy that he established some conversation between them, no matter what kind it was. God knew he was tired of loneliness he was feeling for regular years now, and this human company made him feel present, as if he was still here, on the planet Earth, still acknowledged as existent being, and somehow, still valuable for business. 

But Bill, unaware of the warm friendship Moray was unevenly trying to build, to evoke, turned his back to the mild man behind and fixated his binoculars, focusing on the couple - weird to think of it, really - and humming a tune to entertain himself. Unlike Moray, he didn't care how far he had to go, what resources he would have to use, if the end of the tunnel brings him a wished fortune. He was only grateful for more and more money, so immoral, that he took liking in being the perfect man for this wicked job. 

"So, so, look at that young meat... the Joker's girl."

"Are you sure it's her?"

"I'm not dumb, Moray! Yes, I'm sure. Look at this photo and look at the girl."

"I can hardly see. It's dark, mate," Moray shrugged off his shoulders, looking down on his lap.

"Then you're fuckin' blind. Now, focus on the street. Here, take the binoculars," Bill tossed it behind without looking where it will eventually land, "Can you see her now?"

"Yes, Bill. I can. I-I see her."

"Nice. How did you say? Mate? Right."

"What now? We are going into action tonight?"

"No. We'll need the boss' permission before starting the 'operation'. But I don't think it'll take him long enough. He's anyway... who he is, _mate_." 

"So... now we just wait?"

"Aha," Bill smiled contentedly. "We've got a golden fish, Moray." 

The Joker didn't notice them.

💚💜💚💜

But he did, however, notice the one he was looking for. 

"You see, dolly," he spoke, every word slowly pronounced, falling to a mere whisper. "You've got a little fire in your head. It burns ya like a cigarette." 

Roxanne didn't move an inch, still trapped under his torso. That did not stop her from angrily glaring at him. 

"Just... don't let your head explode. You know, like... FIREWORKS!" he screamed, which turned into a wild laughter, which turned into a suppressed chuckle as his eyes opened and fell on her again. 

Her face, her once so naive and so pure face, was under the influence of a strict expression and a very serious anger problem. He frowned, as his silly attempt to make her laugh didn't work. 

He hated when his toys didn't play the rules of the game. Except there were no rules. Or a potentional tutorial of instructions.

The Joker liked them all playing on their own bare instincts. 

"Ah, ah, where's the smile, dolly?" he sang softly, tracing his gloved hand across her cheek. He could feel how cold her skin was in this winter air, even under the layer of necessary clothing. Rather, in his case, necessary disguise. 

She pushed his hand from her face. He didn't defend himself, just let his arm fall to his side like the unwanted part of his body. The lack of his reaction encouraged her, and Roxanne slammed both of her clenched fists into his chest. He moved back one step just in time as she launched forward to hit him once more. 

"Still no smile? I thought little _exercise_ would cheer your quirky mood up."

"Well, you see, _Joker_ ," she put a strong, unfamiliar emphasis on his title, "I did things to myself," she let out a deep breath, "And I stopped smiling." 

"A-ha," he retorted. "Pity."

"Pity's for the weak. I'm not one of those, you know." 

"Oh, I did notice that little trait of yours," he replied mockingly. "I admire it. You have the guts to say something like that to, ah, a guy like me." 

"What, are you a God or something? I already told you: I'm not afraid to die, Joker. So bring it on." 

He whistled with laughter. "Ah, wouldn't limit myself with a name like that, dolly." 

"Then you must be the devil himself," she snapped. 

(A thought crossed his mind. _Say hello to Devil_. Where he heard that before?) 

He chuckled lowly, blooded lips pressed together. 

"Would you dance with the devil in the moonlight? Would ya, dolly?" 

He held out his hand, perfectly still, and so perfectly in control. 

"I want you to remember one thing only, Joker," she warned, ignoring his hand. "We are not the same. And we will never be."

Roxanne ran away before he could say anything else, ignoring the pain that radiated in her ankle. Or worse, actually _do_ kill her. 

(But it was never on his mind.)

💚💜💚💜

As his obsession left, running away for her dear life he had no intention to endanger (not yet anyway), the Joker erupted in gigantic, noisy laughter that spooked and haunted the city of Gotham at the very core of it. 

It took him a full minute afterwards to maintain himself on his feet. But his body - his body never stopped shaking. From excitement, from luciditiy and madness; most importantly, from the jokes. 

He glanced at the nightsky. The stars above Gotham shone brilliantly tonight. He didn't understand why some people put their trust in the stars for the dreams they have (which are all pretty much just terrible jokes), but he knew one damn well way of hitting a damn well punchline. 

He raised his gun up, aiming for one distant, sparkly thing in the pitch black and pressed the trigger. The bang was louder than expected. It didn't scare him off though. The Joker was never scared. 

_Shoot for the stars if you want your dreams fulfilled, ha? Shoot at the already dead thing just because it shines!_

Joker glanced behind his back and then smirked. He caught the sight of a man whose attention he wanted to gain.

"Hm, hm. Like the party, Batsy, don't ya? Got you out of your cage, didn't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there's a lot happening in this one! The chapter is surely longer than I expected it to be in the end. But I had so much fun writing it!  
> And the scene with the Joker shooting at the stars was something that popped in my head and I just wanted to write it (I hope it's a good and reliable scene though)
> 
> Also, you may have noticed I referred to J as Napier. The thing is, when I first started writing the series at the end of January, I didn't believe the story will go that far, so detailed in my mind so I picked only a letter (to me, it seemed like a good insinuation: joke/s, to joke, The Joker etc.) instead of the name 'Jack Napier'. However, those reasons have changed.  
> Before this chapter I didn't want to give Roxanne a surname of any kind as well. But the scene with a police call and Gordon took longer than I previously imagined, and turned into something far greater than I thought, so I went into a research (I literally did google 'surnames for wealthy families' and 'surnames for fictional wealthy families' - yes, Bechtel really is a surname that originates from the southwestern Germany).  
> Gordon wasn't supposed to be a character in this series either (he exsisted offscreen), but there will be a mention of him in ninth chapter, so I wanted to give an explanation of why is he here, not just throw him in the chaos out of nowhere.  
> Now that we are talking about names: I named J's mother Rose because I always pictured her (and wrote) as a delicate, gentle person who's not brave enough to stand up for themself. I do think roses are elegant, but delicate flowers with a true beauty hidden within, and that's how I think of J's mother. She was a beautiful mom, caring and protective of her son, but unable to fight in the world that was naturally too harsh. 
> 
> Stay safe and well till the next time! :-D


	7. His Precious Obsession... Taken Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: an attempt at rape in this chapter. If you're not comfortable with this topic, please, don't read the chapter. I wish not to disturb anyone!

> _"Are we laughing at the danger?_
> 
> _Are we dancing after death, you and I?"_
> 
> _~ Dancing After Death by Matt Maeson_

The situation in progress was similar to the one that took place months ago. 

After the night she 'had a walk' with the Joker, led conversation with Gordon (who did not believe a word she told him or had his suspicions he couldn't quite voice due to the lack of evidences) and came face to face with her own past which found its best way to entirely conquer her consciousness, Roxanne had enough. Enough of the world that stumbled under her feet, and not even a half of year had passed since she stepped in Gotham; through this sensitive and unpredictive area of her life she learned some truths about friendships and relationships that only deepened her cynical view of life, but also came across the news which, however she may have felt about them, left a trace on her newly opened wound. 

Her parents were dead. 

The first one to go was her father; he died January 2009, on the street, after he had a stroke. To her disbelief, it was the third one he endured. The death he was bound to meet greeted him violently, exposing his bare chest to the world, so the world could see he was just an ordinary man, a man of flesh and bone and a sickness in his organism, that the societal function didn't mean a thing when that lovely lady often dressed in black dared to take him away and behind the veil. The world was allowed to hear his breath sounds, becoming thinner, thinner and quieter, then stopping in a less than a mere second. His eyes, the same shade as Roxanne's, stayed opened while the silky rain started to pour. 

_Even the sky cries for the dying millionare man_ , some did say.

Her mother passed away much silenter. Her husband's death saddened many of the friends and colleagues he worked and hung out with; but to say such a death was a shock would be understatement. A well known fact it was that almost all patients who suffered two heart attacks and survived them, some barely and some fully recovered, mostly died because of the third one, it being fatal. 

She died the same year, but in June, two days before Roxanne's 23th birthday. The cause of death was widely spectaculated, going from Mrs. Bechtel dying a natural death in her sleep (hard to believe) to Mrs. Bechtel overdosing with antidepressants and a glass bottle of tequila. To chase away the magazine vultures and to avoid suspicions, the coroner explained heart failure to be the responsible for the death. However, it was never firmly confirmed or denied. 

Learning of losing both of her parents in one year, and never getting another chance to apologise or settle peace between them, Roxanne couldn't come to terms with it. Yes, there were faults on both sides, mostly right there on theirs. She was too young and too hot-headed back then when she escaped from home. Her impulsive behaviour was a personal experiment, a poorly thought riot against the systematic relationship she built with them through childhood. She only wanted love, love she felt she couldn't receive from them, as they were always distant and strict with her, measuring and dictating her every step. 

But, they did love her - she learned it too late. 

They cared enough to find her - she was already gone. 

Now they were gone, for good and forever - and she became a target of her ex-lover. 

Two weeks passed since she saw Joker the last; he'd come back, she knew. He was not done with her. 

In such a minor time Roxanne managed to visit their graves twice. 

The shine of the marble of the tomb was turning pale. No flowers. Not a lantern. No grass that doesn't belong there. 

Nothing. Nothing was there. 

They were abandoned. Lost souls sleeping together in their bones form, eyeballs emptily staring at the dark, where no face is hidden nor seen. 

Parents crossed over, and forgotten, and cursed by the weeping child. Their only, orphaned child. 

"Mother. Father," she said steadily, glancing at the left and right side where each name was written, now their names streaked with white lines. 

And that was where she stopped. No words she had to say. 

A bouqet of yellow daffodils, blue peoines and purple irises touched the cold stone. Lanterns standing proudly in front of them, swinging the flames as the soft wind danced with them. 

Number three.

Three for a father, a mother and a child. Three different flowers, each favourite of a deceased and a living skeleton. Three lanterns with vivid lights, for three souls that were once inseperable and nonexistent without one another. 

Three because every one of them were dead. A child didn't know it yet. 

That's why the child left the cemetary after a post mortem meeting.

_I forgive you and you forgive me._

💚💜💚💜

Something, a little, tiny something died in her that day. 

Her vision was blurry from the tears she promised not to cry, for them, for anyone. Her tiredness took its tool on her thinking process. She was grieving, and nothing else mattered at that point. Not even a homicidal clown lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for her, preying at her. 

She walked as a zombie down the white hallways, soaked in her guilt and depression, that she didn't notice people running around her in rapid circles, yelling instructions at each other and locking the offices and vulnerable prisoner cells. Red light illuminated the walls, and the screams - prisoners? staff? monsters or demons? - became louder, and the beeping noise filled the floors and the ears of every person present in Arkham Asylum that gloomy morning in January. 

Soon enough, the hall faded to black, and with the blackness the screeching drowned. Two hands squeezed her arms, and the third snaked around her unprotected neck. As logic dictates, there just had to be the fourth one as well. And the said hand just had to press a fabric on her mouth, ripping out her breath, blinding her eyes' sight. 

Roxanne fell down in strangers' hands. 

Waking up was the harder part, as her head throbbed with immeasurable pain and her neck felt stiff. It didn't take long enough for her to find out the reason of not being able to move, or better said, she could move just the tips of her fingers, which were already worriedly white-coloured. The rope (or several ropes?) held her in place, leaned under a strange, yet comfortable angle. She couldn't make sense of anything around her, as the place she was captured in was obscure, a cold room with no windows, a reeky room with no fresh air so she quickly found herself catching shallow breaths. 

Now was the perfect time to fear. 

She was never the one to back away in anxiety and concern, always on the side of being brave and bold. The primal, primitive fears of material things disgusted her, as her spartan upbringing taught her well. The only fears that were acceptable and inevitable, as it goes in life, were the ones of abandonment, the lack of warm, human touch and the absence of love. She met her fears. She met them all. 

So why did the pure adrenaline and a humorous desire for life run through her veins in that rotten basement? 

"Look at that, Moray; the pretty girl is awake. Finally," a man gritted his teeth, slamming the door open. A vicious creak of it almost caused her to wince. 

"Don't try to scream, pretty," Bill rebuked, kneeling in front of her. "Nobody's gonna hear you here. More important, nobody's gonna _find_ you here." 

"He really is a psycho," she huffed, feeling her heartbeat increase. 

"Who, pretty girl?" 

"My name is Roxanne," she hissed. "I'm sure you know that, since all of this must be his doing." 

"Whose doing?" 

"Don't try... Don't try to play me," she responded, exhaling with trouble. It felt like a big rock sitting on her chest. 

"I don't have any idea of what you talking about, _Roxanne_ ," he said innocently and turned to other man in the room. "Moray, _mate_ , you know who's she talking about?" 

"No, Bill," he replied and looked at the girl in confusion. And scare. 

"The Joker, goddamnit!" she spat out as the sharp needle of pain cut through her lungs. "He's the one behind it, I know!"

"You're still a little dizzy, sweets," Bill interrupted. He was smiling. "We caught you because you are the Joker's... little obsession? Is that a right word, Moray? What do you think?" 

"I think it is, Bill," the Scot agreed. 

Bill nodded, satisfied. "See, beautiful? We're not the bad guys. Your Joker is a bad, bad baddie. And you are-"

"The Joker is not mine," she said back and her left cheek was met with a flaming slap.

"Don't interrupt me!" 

"Bill, please, stop. This is not what the boss would like to see us doing," Moray interfered, putting a fist on his shoulder. It was diformed, as Roxanne could notice in the dim light. For a split second, her eyes met his; there was no darkness, no sadism hidden beneath. This man wasn't an evil one. He just got himself into a wrong business. The other side of the medal, where the medal is no longer golden. 

"Can't I have a bit of fun? The boss didn't say we can't touch her," Bill turned his head to Roxanne and stared at her with a boiling hunger inside. "We're only not allowed to hurt her." 

"Who-who is your boss?" she asked, cursing herself for letting her voice betray her, allowing this guy - _Bill_ \- to see through. 

"You don't think I'll tell you?" he cooed.

"What does he want from me?" she tried again.

"When did I say the boss is a man?" 

"So it's a woman?" 

"Might be, might not. Wanna know, precious?"

"It would be polite." 

"Polite?!" he started to laugh. Comparing with this, Joker's laughter was much more pleasable sound. "You are a funny girl. Not just beautiful, but funny too. I like girls like that." 

_No. Don't you dare._

"I really like girls like you," he spoke deeper. 

As soon as she saw his face leaning closer and closer, Roxanne became aware of his filthy, sickening intentions. Her panicking heartbeat only quickened itself, and she felt it may jump out of her chest, and this fear - no, a pure horror - left her paralyzed to the chair, as she remembered she couldn't move, stuck in this darkest corner of a world she was afraid of, always deep down, where she never, ever, dared to dive into. With a pale dread on her face, she watched Bill move closer, and closer, slowly, confidently closing his eyes, those mad, colourless eyes.

His finger touched her cheek, and it left her alarmed. This touch, as she never let any other man touch her ever again, not after J, whom she still loved, and whom she still needed very much, and missed, was a peculiar, massive mistake he should've never made. No man was ever right to touch a woman who didn't want him. 

Or, simply, this was not the man she wanted to be touched by. She still wanted only one face in her hands. 

"Ow!" Bill yelped, and she stirred. A second was enough for her to understand what had happened. She hit him. Head to head, and now a slim line of blood leaked from inside her mouth. She bit in her flesh as she went into attack. He fell backwards on his palms and back. 

_J would be so proud of me now._

From the back, something metal knocked her out of consciousness. 

💚💜💚💜

"Stupid little bitch, she's impossible! Have you seen what she had done to me, Moray? Have you seen?!" 

The vision was blurry again. But the smell of the dust, and the lack of fresh air, or any kind of air really, reminded her of where she was. In the hands of two men, one rageful and a potentional rapist, other being a much more humble guy, it was visible on his frail posture; there wasn't a way for her to easily escape. 

She understood the case behind the abduction: somebody clearly wanted to get the Joker's attention, although she couldn't quite place it on who, and the way to lure him was to capture her, which she also couldn't figure out why. Yes, Joker was haunting her, testing her patience at extreme will, but it was always - he was always - just a threat in her mind. She knew he wouldn't kill her; it didn't seem like he wanted to. But, of course, how could she know? She barely managed to scratch the surface when he was still responding to his true name; why would it be any different now that he was a psychotic murderer? 

Still, there was a hope to hold on. 

And a hope was the card she decided to take out of her sleeve.

She groaned, waking up, slowly coming to terms with whole picture, visualizing the scenery she was accustoming to. A small ray of faint light broke in from somewhere; only then, when her confusion showed itself on her greyish face, a hand pointed at the hole in the wall. So there was a window. Quadrant-like window with planks slammed over. 

"So, you're awake, ha? You're gonna pay for this when the boss is here," Bill roared. His face was drawn into a grimace, as he was trying to give her a smirk, but at the alone movement the purple, swollen part of his cheek and nose caused a surprising hit of pain, and he had to grit his teeth once again. 

Luckily, Moray was beside him. Bill made a step towards her, but Moray tightened his right upper arm and shot him a serious glance. Bill turned his head to him, annoyed and displeased. "Don't, Bill. You'll already have to explain your face when... the boss comes. Not gonna like it, I can assure you." 

"I told the boss you're not a good partner to work with! You're such a... a... You just use your morals!" Bill shouted in a low tone. "We have already taken the girl, get it, pal? You're in the same mess as me, so don't try to lecture me!"

"Bill...," the Scot waved his head. 

"So what if I wanted to have a bit of fun with her? Can you blame me? I haven't seen or touched a proper woman in months!" Bill kept going on, twitching in circles and rubbing a hand against his neck.

"She's not ours, Bill."

"You just wanted a piece of a cake the boss offered you. That's so _fair_ ," Bill mocked. "But I wanted - and I still want, don't look at me like that, sweet Roxanne - a whole cake shoved in my mouth! And I have a right on that! You'll see when... when the boss finishes with her. One of us will get the girl, and I intend to be that one." 

He opened the door of the basement. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I'm gonna walk, pal. You know, just not to come into temptation to blow her head off!"

As he left, Moray's attention turned to her. She was laying on the floor, her legs and arms still in ropes, and her barely breathing out calm breaths. He noticed her shaking, and walked to her in silently, not to scare her away. Reaching her miserable form, he knelt down and pulled away a few strands of her hair. 

One touch of the silky hair, and he was reminded of his own past. 

She flinched away and let out a half-scream. Moray pressed a palm on her mouth, but without any act of violent intent. 

"Don't scream, please. Just don't. It's not going to save you here, not until the boss comes, and it's only going to piss Bill off. So don't do it, okay? Nod if that's okay." 

She nodded and he let go. 

"I'll give you some water, just a bit. Bill's counting our supplies of anything here, really. Can't give you more than that, I'm sorry."

"You're not like him," Roxanne managed to speak the words out, but her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "You're even apologizing to me for not giving me enough water and yet, you abducted me. Why?"

He met her with silence and sad eyes on the brink of tears. 

"Can _you_ at least tell me? You seem... quite normal, I think." 

"I am a bad guy in this story still," he said. "Don't forget that."

"You're not doing this for the sadistic fun as he is," she analyzed. "You need money; that's why you're doing this. Do you? Do you need money?"

"Who doesn't these days?" Moray smiled weakly. 

Her heartbeat wasn't panicky anymore. "You're right. Everyone needs it these days, but usually the ones who don't deserve it get it."

"I... I've never done this before."

"What, talking to your hostages? I do tend to make people talk when I want to," she said, but quickly adding, forgetting who's in a weak position here. "But I don't want to. I just want to go home."

 _I can't promise you you will go home_ , he wanted to say, to warn her; but what for? That's not his role. Although the role of a kidnapper didn't suit his chances either. 

"I meant I've never kidnapped other human being," he confessed embarrassingly. "I didn't even want this, young girl."

"But the life forced you," she finished for him. "How much he-the boss offered you?" 

"20 000$."

"I can give you more," she spoke. She still had the bank account her parents opened to pay in a bulky amount of money for her pre-planned future; she never dared to touch it after she left, believing the money to be filthy and undeserving of her. Now she knew it was almost the thing that, if she did use it in the end, would've gotten her back to Gotham, as the account was tracked by Gordon and his people, therefore ending the story of a longtime forgotten and banished daughter being connected with her family roots again. 

He eyed her cautiously. Right at the moment she thought she had him, that the fish bit the leash, he waved his head and ran his palms over his worried face. 

"I will take what I was granted to, thank you," he finally responded. "I can't go back anymore. I can't undo what has been done. I'm sorry."

"I understand," she said back. She didn't want to, but she understood him. She'd seen many of cases like this with her own patients, before she returned to Gotham, and she could feel the agony, fear, torment and melancholy they felt. 

"I... I've got to light a fire upstairs," he explained awkwardly, standing up and grabbing a half empty bottle of water. "I need to take this. Bill will be furious if he finds out."

"Can you just tell me one thing?" Roxanne asked. 

"I suppose you can," he shrugged his shoulders. 

She smiled at ' _suppose_ '. "What happened to you so badly that you had to give into a life like this?"

Moray shrugged his shoulders again. "Why do you want to know, girl? What's it got to do with you?" 

"I feel suffering where I see it," Roxanne said. "And I see this was not your choice. This lifestyle." 

"This was never my choice; just to convince you," he replied. "But I lost the battle with the life, and I'm tired, get it? I lost my house, my job, my marriage and my daughter. I have nothing left." 

"But a basic need for survival," she added. 

"But a basic need for survival," he accepted and left the room.

💚💜💚💜

It might had passed days, or maybe even a week, before anything interesting happened. 

She was still chained up, still held hostage for, to her, no logical reason at all, and still in a very danger of becoming a feast for Bill's eyes and body. Moray kept him away the most he could, which Roxanne was thankful for, especially after they shared such a nice but out of place moment. Something like that didn't happen afterwards; Moray saw the mistake he made there, opening his heart and his unhealing wounds to the person who is locked because of them, of their actions, and who will probably end up dead after this circus ended, with him carrying a little fortune of money in his pocket and with the young girl's lifeless body dumped into river or ocean. 

One morning, or day, or evening, or night - who could keep track of it anymore? - she woke up (she'd already taken numerous hours of sleep, which will pay off later in life) and found herself surprised at the lack of weight on her wrists and legs. It was a nice surprise. Very nice one indeed. 

But it was also _bright_. Like she was... sparkling? 

"Oh, oh, look who's awake!" Bill cheered.

"Wha-what's going on? What's this? Am I on fire?"

Bill laughed. "That's good one, good one! But, sweet Roxanne, you're not on fire. You're just... a bit in a mood for holiday."

_This guy is out of his mind._

"What holiday?" she asked uncertainly. 

"Christmas, sweets. You see those little lights on you?" he pointed at her. "Those are little Christmas lights." 

_The Hell?_

"It cannot be Christmas. It's just been. Now is January-" _But is it? Maybe you're gone too and you don't even know it yet?_

_No, my mind wouldn't play me like that._

"How long am I here?" 

"You don't enjoy my company? But I'm such a perfect man for you, sweets."

"I asked you a goddamn question," Roxanne spat out. 

"It's been exactly... two weeks!" he glanced at the watch, then at her. 

"Why am I here?" 

He groaned in frustration. "You just don't get tired of these questions, don't you? You ask the same question _every fucking day_ you're here."

"That's because I'm known to be stubborn. And because I want to know why your boss-" 

"The boss will come when the boss decides to come," he interrupted, and in her mind flashed a memory of his reaction when she did the same to him on her first day of being captured. "Till then, you're gonna be our guest. It's not like you can do anything about that, sweets." 

"Don't call me 'sweets'," she growled. "I have a name." 

"Sure you do. _Roxanne_ ," he purred and lit up the candle. "Like Sting's song. But Roxanne in the song is a prostitute. Tell me, would you be one? For me? You know, for a little of pole dancing?" 

"I'd rather have my head cut off by guillotine," she stated calmly. 

"That can be arranged when the boss comes."

_Why didn't the Joker come for me?_

"More questions, maybe?" 

Roxanne jerked. "Yes - one."

"Shoot."

"Why did you cover me in Christmas lights?"

Bill smiled one of his smug smiles and sat down on the chair in front of her. She noticed him watching over her atributes, licking his lips as he was taking all of her in. She didn't like it. She prayed for Moray to come soon. He was, however weird it sounded, a pleasant guy, at least nice to her. But it was all due to his swallowing self-pity that made him humble and approachable. 

"I heard the Joker has a sick taste of humour," he said, playing with the flame of the candle. "So I thought... people love Christmas, right? And then it sparked an idea in me... the Joker is crazy. I mean, he's even under the layers of crazy! And I just thought... he'd find this shit funny. Or hillarious. You know, his favourite girl caught in a spider web, and then set on fire. Only, you're not. You're really not."

"I'm really not what?" she rolled her eyes. 

Bill smiled wider. "You know what I'm talking about. You are not going to end up burned to death, if that concerns you. At least not by my hand. I'd hate to burn this pretty face up."

"He will come for me," she tried, but actually doubted it. 

If she could trust this man (there were numerous reasons not to), she'd been kept here for exact two weeks. In that time, Joker would have found here already. He was capable of finding anyone, including herself, when he wanted to. So why didn't he come? Does he even care? 

_What does it matter? And of course he doesn't care! Stop behaving like he is the one you used to know._

Right now, it would use her good if his presence was evident. 

"Sure he will. He gotta save you. Eventually." 

In that moment, as they both became aware of them being alone in that cold room, her completely unable to defend herself, weakened by the weight loss she suffered (she hadn't been offered too much food; Bill gave her extra amount of water at the start of second week, when it became obvious that nor the Joker nor their boss - for whom they desperately waited - will show up); in that moment, Moray ran in, sweaty and gasping for breath. 

"He's here!"

"The boss? But he didn't give a call!"

"No, no. Not the boss - the Joker!" 

"What?" Bill jumped. He pulled a pocket knife out and his back muscles tensed, but that didn't fool her; he seemed, considering the circumstances, all too calm and steady in such situation. Did he know who is he _really_ going to meet? 

Three of them waited. Waited for the door to slam open, or for the house to scream from the clicking of his knives and little toys, or for the halls and stairs to echo his omnious footsteps as they are to meet their demise. But he popped out of nowhere; through a secret hallway, a forgotten dusty hole, like a ghost, or better as a demon with blooded smile and menacing black eyes. 

"Hello, hello, lady and gentlemen! Did ya miss me?" he greeted as he came from behind the room.

Bill turned around slowly, as if he was waiting for such thing to happen; finally, that was the Joker, the famous Prince of Crime, and he was ready to play with the clown, to earn a title of a 'Clown Killer' or something similar, with a very pleasing tone to it.

Moray, on the other hand, yelped as he saw him approaching from the back of the room. He knew who is the main catch in the game; he only didn't expect the Joker to pull out those kind of surprises. 

The mocking clown made its way to the front, jigging as doing so. 

"Wanna play 'Truth or Dare'? Hm?" he sang, and his voice danced with joy and playfulness. 

None of them answered. Roxanne only witnessed whole scene playing before her.

"Cat got ya tongue, hm? Interesting," he said to himself. "Very interesting."

He clapped, and Moray flinched a step away. Bill's eyes never left Joker's form. The clown was tall, he always knew that, but this darkened room made him seem taller and physically stronger than he is. 

The Joker then turned his head to Roxanne. He glanced her up and down, and his lips smiled confidently. 

"Which one would you prefer, dolly?" he asked her sweetly and carressed her cheek with one gloved finger. As she looked up, he smiled. (She could swear his eyes softened a bit.) 

Roxanne smiled to him, against her own will. 

"I'd always loved 'Dare'," she whispered, enchanted. 

One corner of his lips lifted and she could tell he was satisfied with the answer. 

"Then 'Dare' it is!" he exclaimed happily, then leaned down briefly, only to mutter in her ear _I know you do._

Bill and Moray looked scared and, for a moment, it confused her. But her own idiocy hit her in the head. 

_Of course they look scared,_ she scolded herself. _It's a damn Joker in front of them. I would look scared too if I hadn't spent all supplies of fear already on being abducted._

What happened next she couldn't explain to herself even today (it's not like she'd wanted to): the Joker first took down the Scot, sliting his throat in a fast motion, a force so pure and so intended to kill. Moray quickly fell down, and even quicker stopped moving at all. Roxanne's pity cried for him, as she didn't wish anything bad to happen to him. But, of course, this was the Joker in question, and it was already visible from the start how will it all end once he came. 

She'd have to carry guilt for this man's death. 

Bill was more skilled in combat and more determined to stay alive, to grab the prize he'd now get just for himself. This same thought drove him further, and soon the battle of two knives made place for whole room and a one simple person in the audience to watch the show.

The eager kidnapper was on his knees in another five minutes; Joker threw several knives at him, which scratched and opened many of cuts and injuries on his skin, none of them in fact lethal. He laid down on the floor cussing, now not entirely self-assured and easy-going as he was hours, days, weeks ago. 

While he was down, wailing out of pain, the Joker cut the Christmas lights around Roxanne's figure, therefore laughing as he did it. The idea of wrapping a person in something so family-oriented, in the true spirit of a holiday celebrated once a year made him laugh and snicker. Well, the fun did die when the cut lights stopped shining. 

Roxanne stood up with trouble and insecurity, as she wasn't standing a lot through these weeks; she could only feel the use of her legs when she was allowed to go to bathroom, otherwise she was always kept tied to the chair, of which four had been changed in the meantime, as she broke the one on her first day here, when she punched Bill in the face with her own. The other three chairs were broken due to her either jumping together with it and banging on the floor, which irritated Bill, or throwing herself on the floor, risking a few bruises, just to tear apart the weak furniture she was forced to sit on. 

Bill cursed loudly. 

"Don't tempt me. I won't hesitate to deprive you of your poor existence," the Joker replied, looking her directly in the eyes as he was examining the few changes on her skin that faded to light yellow. It concerned her with how much indifferent hatred he spoke the words, and for a slightest second she wasn't sure with whom he was speaking. She was relieved when he looked behind his back at the whining man. "It's nothing personal; scums like you pollute the air anyway. And we cannot take more air pollution now, can we?"

"Damn you, a fucking freak!" he yelled back at the Prince of crime.

"That was the 'Dare'," the Joker brushed off, his jaw tightening. "I see you're not a team player; leaving your mate just there to die... so easily. But a man's got his virtue, hasn't he?" 

A click of a knife was heard. She could finally see her purple switchblade in his hand, after so many years with her name still written on it. He still carried it around, wherever he went. _He hasn't completely forgotten._

"Now... What to do, what to do with you, hm?" 

💚💜💚💜

Once they were out of the house, leaving behind two broken bodies, the Joker grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him, causing her to curse out loud, as he was dragging her. There was a destination in his mind, a point he had to reach; now that he set his mind on it, there was nothing to stop his actions.

"Where are you taking me?" Roxanne asked, squirming behind his back.

He replied. Resolutely. 

"The place." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote the first synopsis for this story months ago, I didn't plan to give backstory/ies to the criminal/s. Yet I did, and yet I killed them off! I'm so sorry, I wanna take my eyes out!  
> However, I hope the chapter is quite enjoyable. Let me hear your thoughts: who do you think is behind the abduction? (I will not confirm anything, but I'd like to see if someone will get it right)  
> And I am sorry for the sensitive topic in this one, I know it's not easy for everyone to read/write, so I hope I haven't upset anyone.  
> But, also, this ain't a light story. This is Gotham; a city of criminals with no fake minds, a city full of corrupted people with no honest morals. It gotta be the way it gotta be, and I hope I'm rolling nicely and objectively with this story
> 
> Now, something COMPLETELY unrelated to this story: recently watched Disney's 'Coco' and it became my personal favourite Disney movie ever! (In case you wanna know, I was rather predictable; my former fav was Frozen). So... I just wanted to say that, if you like 'Coco', you should check out this work on Ao3: ¡Ay mi amor, ay mi amor! by cumulativeChaos  
> IT'S AMAZING AND SWEET AND PERFECT AND BRILLIANT
> 
> I'm aware how this doesn't have to do anything with TDK fandom, but I already mentioned it everywhere; on Tumblr, YouTube... I'm just hopelessly in love with this work <3  
> (I seem so neurotic, don't I? xD) 
> 
> Anyway, bye till next chapter! :-D


	8. Writings On The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend listening to "Trouble" by Halsey, as its lyrics seem to fit with this chapter so well (I always put the lyrics of songs that inspire something in a scene - I don't know if it's that much visible, since my mind's been working very weirdly)  
> Enjoy!

> _"But I've got my mind_
> 
> _Made up this time_
> 
> _'Cause there's a menace in my bed_
> 
> _Can you see his silhouette?"_
> 
> _~ Trouble by Halsey_

Roxanne recognized the alley he took her to. 

It wasn't like she would have ever forgotten it. It was the place where their stories were told and made, as much as they were told on the concrete pavements their legs had to cross and run over. 

She only prayed he _did_ know what hold on memories it had; otherwise, if this was all just a coincidental mistake, whether he seemed determined or not when they escaped the house she was locked in (Joker set the house on fire, of course), then it was a very cruel move. She was still shaking from the events that left her robbed of her personal freedom she loved and learnt to be loved by. 

But he did say he was taking her to 'the place'.

"Do tell me, I'm merely interested," she started, finding it odd how easy and simple it made her feel walking this close to him, once he stopped dragging her (her wrist was thankful for it). "Are you kidnapping me after you saved me from being kidnapped?" 

The Joker grunted, but then chuckled lightly. The sound of it made her smile too, moreover since it reminded her of the cartoon icon Scooby Doo's snickering. The same thought turned her thin smile, which he might have missed, into sincere laugh of amused person. 

"Is it weird if I thank you for saving my life?" she asked, suddenly becoming serious. "Because you're the Joker and I... don't believe someone's ever thanked you for sparring them."

"Is that so, dolly?"

"You don't seem like somebody who would eventually save a person's life," she said further. "Unless you have secret plans for me?" 

"I do," he cut off almost immediately. "Very clever, little bird. But you might wanna be more safe on that side of a coin; the bird who sings the loudest and the most, gets its vocal cords ripped out if not cautious enough." 

"Now you're threathening to kill me? You... you wouldn't do that... right?" 

"Was I ever honest to you?" 

"You are _always_ honest." 

"Then look up at that window on the left. Know what it is?" 

She didn't even have to look; up on the left she would find the window that looked in the kitchen, and it gave the best view of Gotham she could see after she left her home and lost her privileges. She particularly remembered that one morning, and she could remember it so precisely because it was one of the sunny days in the city, which were rather rare and therefore meant to be cherished, and the way she celebrated it was by laying down on the floor and cuddling with her lover while it lasted. The sunny day in Gotham was like their own personal mistletoe. 

It happened around the time his mother died. 

And the time he murdered his stepfather. 

Roxanne shook at the memory. Somehow, the eerie, freezing winter air around them and the deepest, darkest night hours they were sneaking through weren't making her afraid as much as she should've been. 

Somehow, she felt safe in the company of the Joker. 

'The place' was their old apartment. 

"You... live here?" she managed to speak out, as the tears took over her eyes. This was just so wrong, it was wrong to be here, and yet; she felt like she utterly belonged here, only here. It was the first time Gotham felt like home in months. 

The Joker closed the door behind them, silently locking the door, so she wouldn't notice. He put the key in the pocket of his purple coat. "Occassionally, yes, I do. I live here." 

She turned to face him, and only then understood how _close_ she was to him. So close she could take in his smell, his breathing (fast, but quiet, invisible - if she didn't know he was human, she'd think him to be a demon coming out of the darkness to play with his fallen angel, before he pulls her in the shadows and through the gates of Hell), and the look of his eyes. Oh, and what _those eyes_ were. Not even that black anymore; they were similar to milk chocolate, sweet and familiar, gentle and without consuming fire behind the pupils. 

Once she compared herself to Icarus. Now she did get it; why he was reminding her of the Sun. His presence, the illusion of his body shattering above hers, the words he spoke at one time and forgot at the end - he was tempting, and he was a last trial she'd ever have to join and confess her crimes to. He was the dominant pressure which laid its influence on her human being. 

Now, that thought was dangerous. 

And she knew this night, _this night_ , will be the one where she lays down all her cards. 

Because he brought her to the beginning. Where it all started. Where she learned to love him, where he learned to love her, and where their fates were glued together. 

He might have had Harley in the shadows, but Roxanne was the butterfly he caught in the broad daylight.

"Here?" she asked bewildered. The Joker grinned at her. 

"Yes, here. What's gotten into ya, little bird?" 

A fit of wild laughter and sinister chuckle met her response. 

"You know this place is...?" 

_Please, tell me you know. Tell me you remember this place before I shatter to the floor._

He stared at her with his head lower, slightly cocked aside. 

_I cannot let myself being long forgotten. Not to you._

"Of course I do. I remember," he confirmed it, however shady. "Didn't I tell you that?" 

He put a hand on her cheek, and she cursed him silently for wearing gloves. Their fake touch on her skin seperated her from the touch of a man she truly wanted to see and feel. 

"I've never forgotten you, you know."

She shied away from him, but he stopped her moving. Grabbing the back of her neck fiercely, he kept her in place. Roxanne knew there was no way to escape him. Wherever he find her, he'd keep her. Because he wanted to do so, and there wasn't a way for him to be stopped. Some people tried, and a lot of them died. In person, or in a symbol. He killed away the people's gratitude for their lives. 

And she didn't want to go. Not without him. Not anymore. 

"Oh, why so shy, dolly?" he chuckled as he lowered his head down to her, centimeters merely away from her lips. They trembled, but not out of fear. He sensed lust and conflict inside her, where these two demons played so well with each other, which he'd known too good of, and where her true instincts and inner needs couldn't be held for much longer. He knew that too. 

"You know _you_ want _me_."

Her eyes were already closed, but her face melted itself into a frown. How did he do it so easily? Knowing where to hit, what emotions to cause to come back to life, to wake them up and make them crumble and stumble on the way up her throat, to say the words she _really_ meant to say, and the actions she _really_ wanted to show to him. It wouldn't be too bad, would it? He'd already seen everything of her, both in past and present, and they had shared a great deal of events in life other people rarely get a chance to have. 

Smallest of reason spoke to her. Was it loud enough and clever enough to push her on the right path?

"Maybe longing for something is sometimes better than having it," she managed to say, but it came out as a tiresome wince, a sharp pain that was still tearing apart her lungs from days prior. 

The Joker grinned. He had her where he wanted. 

"You looked... beautiful in those... lights," he emphasized and leaned in her ear, and leaned into her. 

Kissing her from behind the ear, then slipping down her elegant jawline and biting the flesh on her neck, Joker felt how, although her heart was certainly beating faster, her skin was still cold to touch. Always cold. Something screamed in his mind; a scene very much familiar, known by heart he once surely had, but now neglected to the superior insanity of a human mind. Somehow, whatever it was, a thought, a reminscent of an ancient relic of body, or an emotion equally suppressed - it told him she had always been the same way as he was kissing her now. In that other time, he might had been much crueler man, when he left her believe she was loved by him. 

Roxanne, unaware of what was going through his mind, gave into his slow, but dominant kisses. It was like the past again. She hated living there, but in this moment it was all that mattered. His skin, as hot as she always remembered it to be, as she always felt the permanent traces left by him on her female skin; his arms, lean and lovely, ah, so much _lovely_ just because they were _his_ , when they roamed her body like she was a jungle, and his arms were lions, searching to break, to eat, and to mark their rightful territory. It was like her J came back to her again.

Slowly, she peeled off layers of his clownish clothes and met him with his own name, with his own past he tried to forget that much. 

_J, please love me. Love me tonight with everything in your heart._

"Can you remove your makeup?" she said, her voice uneasy as she touched the smiling scars. Of course, he didn't wince - and she didn't expect him to. 

The Joker gave her a questioning, but amused look. 

"Only for tonight," she explained and bit her lower lip.

"Ah, ah; what kind of a Joker would I be if I'm wearing no makeup, dolly?"

"Maybe you can be J this night," she whispered in his mouth, breathing his air, and him breathing hers. "And I can be your dolly."

"You already are mine," he growled through his yellow teeth and looked into her eyes, deeply as a dark blue sea, swallowing the last sane bits of her sanity. " _Roxanne._ " 

There was something ominous in the way he said it, the way he pronounced her name. Like he knew. Like he knew the future before it was even written. 

And she kissed him. 

And he kissed back, roughly. The way she used to be kissed by Jack, a simple guy of taste with a past built on secrets. 

Ice and fire found each other again.

💚💜💚💜

In the earlier hours of the new day's morning, the Joker was the first one to wake up. 

"You escaped once." 

He circled around her sleeping form. Standing above her unstable figure, he stared at her with untouchability and slight disgust. 

"You're not getting away again," he hissed through gritted teeth and reached into his pocket. " _Dolly._ " 

He grinned a little, and went out through the window, losing his way fast before Gotham woke, and with the light of the day shone away the terrors within its core. 

Roxanne woke when the Sun was high on the sky. 

_Why did I sleep so long? I should've noticed the light, my room's not that sha- Wait. Wait. Wait._

She straighted in the bed abruptly. The actions from the last night, the Joker's killings of two men that abducted her, them returning back to the vision of a life they once had and couldn't bring back; everything of it, and even more, flashed in her memory. 

In frustration, Roxanne raised her hands. Letting out an irritated sigh, she put them down... and felt it. The items. Her head shot in that direction, at the side of bed Joker (Jack!) fell asleep last night. 

Cards. Four of them: Four of Hearts, Nine of Clubs, a Queen of Hearts and his Joker calling card. 

What did they mean? Why did he leave them here? Certainly to send her a message - but which one? 

She moved in bed, trying to make herself more comfortable as she was solving the mystery of Joker's mind. Doing so, she dropped a yelp.

She cut herself on something sharp in the bed. She knew the razor when she saw it, more when she felt it. The Joker left a weapon, one of his favourite knives, wrapped in the sheets. Considering the amount she knew him, Roxanne could tell it was done on purpose. Examining her hand, she came to a conclusion only her right palm was cut across its length. The cut, however, wasn't too deep. 

The act didn't shock her - the weapon hidden behind the attack did. 

It was her switchblade. Purple one, with strong handle and dazzling glow of the blade. Her true property, that he took for himself, _the one he dared to steal from her_ , and the one he used while he committed all those killings of innocents, youngsters and elders, men and their obedient children; the blood he spilt on Gotham's streets and fancy houses, the blood that became hers with each and every new victim who found their end at the tip of the knife. 

Another shock while the Hell Gates' bells were ringing - her name, her name carved in the handle of the switchblade was... peeled off. 

_He erased my name._

And one by one, the thoughts started spinning and racing in her head again. They were forming into faces, then into words, words that seemed to be scribbled on the frosted wall in her psyche, screaming at her, yelling, screeching, pleading, praying, mocking and laughing. That, she couldn't stand. The laughing. She was so sick of the laughters, jokes, all of them not funny, not even hitting a home to being funny. What hurt the most, the faith she restored in her life, no matter how stupidish and naive it was. 

She truly was naive. 

_He erased my name who knows when, how long ago... And then he had the freaking guts to take me here, to bring me back, back to the place that all started, and made fucking love to me! He used me. He... used me. But why? For what?_

Light broke in the room and she wanted to curse it. But thanks to it, she caught a glimpse of small, visible cracks in the walls. She jumped out of bed and ran towards it. 

_For what?_

Were those the lines? Art drawings? 

No. 

Those were words. Structured into sentences. One written close to other. 

The first one read: 

**_SMILE AND THE DAY IS SAVED._ **

Bit lower, where the writing was no longer clean and neat. It was more manic.

It followed:

**_LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE TOWARDS THE AGONY._ **

Then it fell down at the bottom. It wasn't a sentence per se. It took a form of one word to formulate the meaning it held. 

It ended with:

**_ONE. BAD. DAY._ **

She stumbled backwards and met herself with the floor. Knees hurt her as she hit down hard and in pain, but nothing was more painful than what she witnessed to. She never broke contact with the wall, afraid it might be watching, and therefore, judging her. Grinning at her as she was kneeling there, broken to pieces and shaking violently. Rain was sliding down her face, falling from her eyes, tasting of salt and unhappy memories.

She was running from her past long enough. Now she was caught. To see J's past unfold before her eyes. 

_This is the place he lost his mind at. This is where... where the Joker persona was created, fulfilled, established in him._

He brought her here to break her. And he did it, successfully. 

"J... He lied to me," she whispered, shutting her eyes closed as the new wave of pain and disbelief washed over her. She was feeling cold. "He left me... as I left him five years ago." 

She spent the morning there on the floor, crying and breaking, sobbing and breathing for death. She didn't leave 'the place' till the day died, and the Sun fell behind the horizon. 

She opened the door of her apartment and tossed the keys in the bowl. Automatically she searched for light. 

"Don't turn it on." 

A deep voice spoke in the corner of the room. It came from the shadows. 

"Where is the Joker?" it asked. "Where is he, Roxanne?"

She didn't ask herself how he knew her name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meanings of the cards: 
> 
> Four of Hearts = Creation.
> 
> Nine of Clubs = Destruction. 
> 
> Queen of Hearts = a woman who has gained the adoration from public (in this case, by the past version of Joker, when his name was J/Jack)
> 
> Joker calling card = do I need to explain? (Of course they'll meet again!) 
> 
> Thanks for readin'!


	9. Batman Sucks The Fun Out Of Everything

> _"You spend your life in a dream that you can't escape_
> 
> _'Cause you live your life in a coma, you're never awake"_
> 
> _~ Wake Up by NF_

**20:22 pm**

Batman was in her apartment.

"Why... what... how... Ah. Care to explain what you're doing here?" she asked, tired. There was certainly no amount of energy left in her to fight any reasonable arguments of him being in her place for living. "You are a wanted man, and I can call the cops on you if you don't tell me."

Batman was staring at her across the room. His eyes – brown ones, she noticed – squinted a few times, head aside a bit. Undoubtedly, he was searching her, or more actually, searching if she had something _on her_.

"I don't have bombs attached to myself, thank you," she brushed off and turned on the light. "Or any potentional weapon inside my pockets. I swear I don't."

She threw herself on the couch and groaned in the pillow. After everything she'd been through in the course of six months, the lack of reaction she showed to Batman didn't surprise her. Living constantly on the edge of your sanity, waiting for the man you claimed to love to come back, just to properly make a joke out of you; it was quite enough for her brain to wrap around. Add into the account the gruesome actions and people she witnessed to, and a good old look at 'the place', where the memories cruelly betrayed her, after she swore they never wouldn't... yes, you get a marvellous recipe for a distasteful comedy.

Batman, however, might have had been a bit surprised.

"Where is the Joker?" he repeated. There was a distinct shadow hidden in his voice. Like it wasn't his real one. 

"If you want to know that much, why don't you go out and fly up in the sky and find him yourself?" she looked at him. "Why do you think he's with me? Do I look like somebody who'd have a thing to do with the Clown Prince?"

"You were with him last night. After two weeks of strange disappearance. More weeks before, you were seen in the alley with him too. Not to mention, you were the only one of medical staff to survive when he escaped from Arkham Asylum," he recitated in a breath, although it didn't seem like he caught one.

"It's not my fault he has some weird obsession with me.... _Not to mention_ , even more weirder fascination he's shown about you," she pointed her forefinger in his direction.

He made a step forward and stood in front of her. Roxanne had a better, full access to his figure. His tone of voice, however slightly incomprehensible, was a bit familiar; could it be she knew the man already? A grown up man dressing up as a bat; where does she find those crazies? 

Apparently, in Gotham. 

He gazed at her, his eyes devoid of emotion. "Don't play me. I need to know where he is." 

"Have no idea." 

"Where did he take you last night?" he persisted and realized how much he missed this kind of intimidation. 

"To Hell, but then I got my invitation declined," she replied effortlessly, only to show him how unbreakable her walls can be. 

He sighed and put two fingers between his eyes. "Please, make this easier for both of us. Be serious and tell me where he is."

"Why? What are you going to do to him?" 

"It's important to find him. And to stop him from hurting innocent people." 

"And you are going to stop him? Why, because you are the _Batman_?" she spat at the man. "You cannot stop that maniac. You cannot stop him. You tried before and you failed." 

"That's why it's important for me to find him. To excuse myself for what had been done under my guard, and what I failed to protect." 

Roxanne sighed and closed her eyes. "They won't leave you alone. And if the citizens see you, they will send policemen and their dogs on you. Why risk it? Why risk it?" 

"Joker wants me. Then he'll get me." 

"If he wants you, then why isn't he-" 

Another shadow jumped out from the deep dark and _smiled_. His weapon clicked in his gloved hand. 

"Isn't that my old friend? Bats!" 

Batman turned around to meet his greatest enemy again. The sight of the Clown Prince left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Last time he saw him, he lost a friend, the woman he loved. He lost his status of a symbol of justice too; as much as the people who lost their beloved ones, ones he couldn't save in time, be them corrupted or not. He couldn't save a single life he cared about. 

"Long time no see, Batsy," he smirked at Roxanne, piercing with his look through her like she was a pointless air. It stung her in the heart, as if it was like nothing ever happened. "Hello, dolly. Nice of you to meet my friend,..."

Joker's head snapped slowly in the man's direction. 

"...Batman." 

He laughed mercilessly, while tossing his - _hers_ \- switchblade from one hand to another. 

That was when it struck her. 

All of this was only a plan. A plan consisted of Joker's escape, his tireless chase around her, drawing chaos and establishing it in her life, to finally crash her completely on the ground, as it always happens with Icarus, not to pick herself up again. 

All of it, and more, to attract Batman's attention. 

"You bloody liar!" she yelled in Joker's painted face. "Bloody schemer, what you are!"

She grabbed one of the unwashed plates from the sink and aimed for the bastard's head. He only stood there, calmly, waiting for her silly attempt to 'attack' him. His defiant smile didn't facilitate the task she wanted so bad to fulfill: to throw said plate and possibly give him one more scar to brag about. 

"Ta-ta-ta-ta... ta. Don't call me _that_. I'm not a schemer; just the Devil's advocate," he avoided the flying plate with an ease. 

Batman launched himself at the Joker, taking him to the ground. He kicked and kicked with his knuckles, his lips formed in a thin line, while all Joker did was _laughing_. It seemed like he would never stop; a peculiar sound it produced, the sound of smashing and beating, horrific laughter that was getting more powerful and louder with every other hard punch, was embedded in her mind, forever to stay there as a reminder. 

In another minute, the sides turned and the lucky coin fell on Joker's advantage. Batman sank to the floor, knees firmly on the ground as he tried to catch a breath. He seemed like a frail, broken man as he paused there; not anything of the legend she once knew and read of. She had it correct about him in the end: Batman was, finally, only a man, a human who dared to be much more than it, and succeeded. For a moment, and then it all went down the road.

He was tired. 

"Now, dolly..."

Joker walked to her side. He could see the fear in her eyes, eyes he so much loved in another time, another life; he could smell the intoxicating sentience in her small figure, and he enjoyed it. After all, this is what chaos causes to people; it's the epitome. 

He pulled her by the arms and pushed her in front of the window. Using his right hand, he pressed her head firm down.

"Those people are the _real_ schemers," he pointed through the window and squeezed her chin harder. He felt the pulse in her neck accelerate. "The real schemers whose plans fall onto their necks; must hope their heads won't hang, right? You see, the funny thing is-"

His green hair flew forward and a strong hit echoed. Joker's head smashed through the tiniest shards of glass. 

Other hand grabbed her with fierceness and pushed her back. Roxanne fell on the floor, then looked up at the Batman. 

"We need to go. Now," he demanded. 

"But-but... Joker-"

"We have to leave. Now." 

She heard him laughing and Batman shot her a worried look.

"We are his weaker links. He wants us, but don't doubt he'll take everyone down with him if he can. It brings more joy and fun to him if he does." 

"But is he-" 

"He'll find me and you wherever we go. That much I know. But right now, you're the one I need the most to talk to." 

She saw him straighten up and shake with laughter. 

"Why?" 

"I think you know." 

They were long gone when the Joker turned to shoot an occasional glance around the shattered room. Smile in his face died a little, and an expression of rage transformed it into a mad grimace. Deep down in his throat, a spiteful chuckle escaped. 

This was _the night_.

💚💜💚💜

"We'll be safe here," he uttered.

"On the roof of a building?" she gave him a look.

"For now." Batman glanced left and right, assuring himself in his own statement. "It won't take him long to figure where we are."

"He's already figured you out," she said sadly.

"Can't say I've done the same."

She understood this as a hint. It'd become obvious why he wanted to talk to her in such a private place. On the high, so she cannot escape his questions. More dangerously, where she cannot ignore the answers that were clear and laid on the table.

It didn't bother her, though. She couldn't do it anymore; the hiding, pretending she was someone who she had never been. Five years of running and supposedly winning the race was a rather painful time she couldn't waste any longer. J's shadow was following her, speaking to her at any given time, influencing her every decision. The claws of his meanness finally caught up with her, and his wolfish demeanor finally bit in her flesh, poisoning it with unnerving venom.

She didn't, and she couldn't, run away as she used to.

"I can't tell you who he is – or was – but he'd always been a bit troubled all the way," Roxanne spoke, slowly, trying not to think of the night before when her hopes utterly shattered under her feet. "But he was good."

"I don't believe that," Batman cut off.

"Has it ever occured to you that he _does_ remember his past and that he just _plays_ around with us?" she spat and turned to him. "He's a smart man, I can tell you that much. He uses us as his puppets; you, me, Harley. Commissioner Gordon. Nothing – and no one – is sacred to him."

A loud shout startled them both. They looked over the roof to see some teenagers playing pranks at each other. The sound of cheer softened the air around them, and it made Roxanne feel more warm on the inside. It was nice, almost soothing, to know there was still some good in the world. Even if it was to be found in smaller rooms, smaller houses, carefully crafted and protected by families.

She was never to meet that much good again. 

"All of it just to fulfill his 'higher purpose'," she mocked, eyes still scanning over the young boys. They didn't know how good they had it. 

"What would it be?" he watched her. 

This girl in front of him, this girl... she wasn't a bad one. Sadly, she found herself in the middle of a spider web; and he knew about the past she tried to hide, after he received a call from Gordon, when her own name was signed under ' _Napier_ ', and the only Napier out there was a woman. But the woman was dead. For seven years now.

"Chaos," she whispered into darkness above Gotham City. "Simple, clean chaos." 

His intuition told him the official story wasn't a true one. From there, he worked in private alongside Alfred, following all the little patterns and traces which led him to outside contacts who helped him with tracking down the real Roxanne. And the real one he did find. 

Roxanne Bechtel. The girl he met briefly a couple of times when they were both preschool kids, unaware of the table turns their fates would take. Both of them etiquetted with a tragedy: his parents' deaths and her heartbreaking disappearance. 

Bruce Wayne knew the weight of heartbreak her parents suffered. He knew of the guilt her father felt; he knew of the collective shame the Bechtel family had to carry when their perfectionistic natures hovered over their only child, and all they had to fight was the mirror with their reflections in them. 

He discovered who she was and couldn't bring himself to tell her. Because she was the person of his past too, and all the people he came in touch with eventually lost their way or died. 

And now, she was the most innocent person versus the most disturbed criminal he came to know. She was connected to every one of them. 

She was the key Joker wanted, even if he didn't know how close he hit home to his true identity. 

Joker won, again; he won years before he _became_ the Joker. Because he took one last person from his past. 

"He was right, you know. There's nothing you owe to them," Roxanne gestured down at the people walking, living their lives unaware of the plot being made behind their backs. People living their happily ever after while the heroes had to fall. "You are a human yourself. Can't be running around and saving the day every time a bad thing happens."

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not saving the day anymore, Gotham citizens hate-"

"I'm saying that you're not a God, Bats," she interjected. "Whoever you are under the mask."

The remark gave him a moment to think. He looked away.

"You sound like him."

He heard her snort.

"That's the only thing we both agree with, then. But I don't understand him, if that is what you meant. He's dived into a depth of crazy," she said back. Somehow, she seemed sad at the realization. "I ran away before it could swallow me whole."

"So you have a past with him?"

She smiled gently. A natural smile, one you give involuntarily when a memory fades. "I do, if it matters. But you will not make me talk. I'm not going back there."

He nodded. "Fine. You don't need to. But don't think people will leave you alone. Gordon will not. He knows you are connected to the Joker in some way. He won't let that go."

"Good. Because there's nothing I have to offer him. It's not a big type of a story anyway," her voice trembled at the latter.

"Judging by the sound of your voice, it was a big story. Must have left some impact."

"You will not find out anything about me. Or what it was that we had once," she warned.

"Oh, but I have," he dropped a small grin. "I already know a lot about you. Good grades, a nice neighbourhood to grow up in, parents having great expectations for their only child. Disinherited when you decided to leave college to become a musician. And from there, no track records. Till you signed in the college in New York. Studying pyschology at the same time as the Joker took over Gotham's streets."

Roxanne didn't want to express it, but she was deeply impressed. "You really did your research. But I still will not give you what you're looking for. I don't _owe_ it to you. Besides, even if I told you everything – most of it I cannot understand myself yet – what would it change? Would it bring back your lovely Rachel? Relive Harvey Dent? Save your title of this goddamn city's protector?"

Batman didn't answer anything. His silence gave her power to go on with her conclusion.

"No. It would not. And it wouldn't make you understand _the Joker_. That kind of crazy nobody can get."

"Who told you about me loving Rachel?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Evil tongues speak when the righteous man is sleeping," she replied, looking him straight in the eyes. "And I did my research too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this is my favourite chapter. 
> 
> Also, this is the chapter we finally get further to Roxanne's own personal wounds. (remember the 3rd chapter, when she talks about how everybody is marked by their family background?) 
> 
> P. S. Do you have a favourite chapter so far?  
> Have a nice and fulfilled day! ❤😇😊


End file.
